Vengeance
by Respicefinem08
Summary: Asami is dead, assassinated. Akihito, distraught, sets out to avenge his death. He does not know yet, however, just how deep it runs.


Asami held the phone in his hand, wrapped within his crimson-stained fingers from sweet, sticky blood. His other hand clutched at the gaping wound across his stomach, a dark red stain spreading slowly like cancer. A blade had plunged in and sliced through the muscles, then out, spilling warm liquid.

A wet finger flipped open the phone and held the first number, the most important number.

"Hello?"

"…" He could drown of ecstasy in that voice.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"…Akihito…"

"Asami?" Hesitation. "Asami, is that you?"

"Yeah… it's me."

"…"

"Thought I'd never call…didn't you?"

"What are you say-…Oh, God." Realization. "Are you hurt? Asami, answer me! Where are you?"

"I thought…" His breathing was laborious, halted by the muscles that screamed in pain, "I thought…you should know…"

"Asami? Tell me! Where are you?" Panic.

"Um…not sure…"

"What do you see?" Terror. "Is there anything around you? Asami, stay with me!"

"I'll stay…"

"Asa-"

"You know… I never realized…I wish you could be here."

"And I will. Just-just tell me where you are, okay? I will _come_ for you, Asami. I will come for you."

"You would…" he chuckled then winced at the vibration that the laughter stirred, jarring spasms of pain, "Fuck…"

"Yes, I will be there. So Asami… Asami?"

"You always would…."

"Asami, stay with me!"

"You can't help me…"

"Don't say these things! Goddammit! Asami, I will help you. Just tell me where you are!"

"I don't… know…"

"Asami?"

"Akihito…"

"Yes?" His voice trembled.

"I love you."

"You stupid fool…"

"I was, wasn't I?"

"Oh, God… Asami…"

"Tell me."

"Asami, where are-"

"Tell me."

"…" Breath. "I love you."

"I know… I know…"

"Asami?"

"I know…"

"Asami! Asami! Answer me!"

No reply.

"Asami! Fuck! You fool! You can't leave like this! Asami!"

Silence.

"Oh, God…please don't…I…don't…"

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Rain pelted down on Akihito, blinking at the drops that landed on his lashes, his black suit and chestnut hair drenched and wet, matted to his body. The rain mingled with salty tears and diluted it but not his pain. Not his shredded soul. Not his heart split and shattered like a mirror dropped from the sky, a thousand fragments, irreparable. And it did nothing, _nothing _to ease the agony that twisted his gut.

Akihito raised his head. The cemetery was empty except for the one lone figure, a white rose in his hand, the tip of his finger bleeding blood from the thorn that had pierced it. The hand clenched tighter around the dangerous stem, daring it to dig deeper into his skin. Did it matter? He wouldn't feel it. Among array of stones, raised in honor of the dead, he stood silently. There was no honor in this.

There would be revenge. There would be bloodshed. Nothing more. Nothing less. Pay the respect that needs to be paid because respect _must_ be paid.

And he will have his vengeance. His retribution. His vendetta.

"You goddamn fool…"

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

An arm reached out, aimlessly seeking for absent warmth, lazily pulling at loose sheets.

_Akihito._

Eyes snapped open.

"Asami…"

The bed was cold and lonely, desolate with only his own empty shell of a living, breathing body.

_Here I am, Asami, all yours._

Silent, tearless sobs gently rocked his body.

_And you're not here to take me._

His lover wasn't there to claim him, to make his heart palpitate wildly in his chest, to make his skin flushed, blood rushing toward the surface, to take his breath away, panting under the dominant body, to make his throat sore from calling out the beloved name, to steal away fierce kisses and gentle kisses, to stroke him in gentle caresses.

Akihito sat up, his head groggy from the alcohol. His body felt sticky from falling asleep with his wet suit on the night before, still in his black mourning clothes that were drenched from the rainy funeral yesterday afternoon. Quickly and efficiently thought he stripped away his clothes and tossed them into the laundry basket and headed into the bathroom. There was no time to idle about in his grief, in his sorrow, when there were lives to be paid and blood to be spilled.

While he let the shower run itself warm, Akihito brushed his teeth, not once glancing at himself in the mirror. He already knew what he looked like, a car wreck, a disaster. Eyes swollen from crying, hair matted down, dark bags under his eyes. No matter. Akihito stepped into the shower, relishing in the little comfort it brought him, momentarily washing away the exhaustion he felt engrained into the crevices of his marrows.

He half dried himself with a white towel and left it on the bathroom floor, quickly heading to the drawers, and dressed as quickly as he had stripped. His camera waited for him at the far end of the room, but it was not time for his insignificant career. Not now. And not ever.

As he strode out the door, he slipped his phone into the pocket and the other, covered with dried, bloody prints, in his hand.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Yoh winced when the others bowed to him as he passed by, making his way to the elevator. He had never asked to be named the next head of the ring. Perhaps it was for that very reluctance that Asami-sama had designated him as the "heir" in his will.

There were other reasons, too, of course. For one, Yoh had graduated from university as a major in economics along with political science. It was by pure accident that he had met Asami shortly after he graduated and found himself gravitated to the dominating authority. Added to that, Yoh had potential and talent for management; Asami-sama had recognized that through his obedient façade.

If it was Asami-sama's wish then Yoh followed through. There were some whose loyalty wavered with death, but not Yoh, not him.

The funeral had been held quietly and silently. He had managed to keep the media silent. No need to see reminders of Asami-sama's death in the streets. What _did_ take him by surprise was Takaba's phone call the day following Asami-sama's dea…no, murder. The lover asked him when and where the funeral would be, and grief drenched the soft, shaken voice. But he went on. Asking the who, what, when where, why, and…how then hung up abruptly when Yoh began explaining that the blade had cut through muscles and sliced through the liver.

His presence at the funeral was a silent one, overlooked and insignificant, but Yoh knew that for Asami-sama, the young photographer's presence was the most important one of all. When his eyes met Yoh's, he raised his chin proudly, with the white rose in his hand, as if to say "I was worthy of his love," and Yoh nodded back then looked away. The grief, the dolor, the _misery_, was all the lover was. A drowned out figure, the last one to stay as Yoh ducked into the car and glanced back. Blood dripped from Takaba's fingertips onto the black stone.

Yoh stepped into the familiar office. He had been here countless times before, but not like this. Not like this. The large chair was wheeled around, facing the wall window. He could almost imagine Asami turning around as he always did, but that wouldn't happen today. That would never happen again.

He was torn from his false reminiscence when his phone went off with the distinct tone he reserved for Asami-sama.

His fingers trembled for a moment.

"Who are you?"

"It's me, Akihito." Ah…the lover…

"You're using-"

"Yes, this is Asami's phone."

Yoh sighed. "What is it?"

"Who's next in line?"

"I am. What do you want?"

"Your help."

"And why should I help you?"

A momentary pause. "You shouldn't, but I want the ones that killed him dead." Yoh shuddered at the voice. It was like listening to Asami resurrected. Not an ounce of hesitation. No remorse. No regret. No going back.

"You're asking me to spill blood for revenge," Yoh answered. The truth was, he was planning on doing just what Takaba asked anyway, but Asami wouldn't want his lover involved in the dangers that lurked in the world he left behind.

"No, I'm asking you to help _me_ spill blood for revenge."

"I cannot allow that."

"Why the _fuck_ can you not?"

"Asami-sama would not wish for you to bloody your hands."

Takaba took a deep breath, as if preparing for an assault. And it came. "Yoh, listen to me. I don't fucking _give_ a damn if my hands are bloody or not. I would give my _life_ to resurrect Asami, but I can't do that now, can I? But what I _can_ do is send every _fucking_ son-of-a-bitch that killed Asami to the underworld. Let me have my revenge, Yoh, and you will never hear from me again. It's a selfish request, I know it is, and I know I'm asking a lot of you to help me in my vengeance, but Yoh, I _must_ do this. I _have _to do this. So I beg you, _help_ me. I can't do it alone, so help me, Yoh. Help me."

"Takaba, this is-"

"_Goddammit_, YohCan't you _understand_?" Takaba was screaming into the phone, "I _love_ the man, Yoh. I God. Damn. _Love_ the man"

_And that will be your downfall._

"He's dead, Takaba."

"Then let's say I _loved_ the man. But whether it's the past or present or future, that does not change a _single_. _Fucking._ _Thing._ Is that not _enough_, Yoh? What _more_ a criteria must I meet? What _more_ of a qualification do I need to seek _revenge_? He may not want this, but even as a dead man in his grave, he cannot ask me to live knowing I never paid the respects!"

Yoh sank into the chair where Asami had once sat.

"Come by his office tonight."

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Nobody stopped Akihito as he entered the lobby. On the surface, nothing had changed. The same bodyguards were stationed there, the same female receptionist, but he could feel the tension slicing through the rigid atmosphere, as if emotions were suspended on tight ropes across the room, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, ceiling to floor.

He received sideway glances though and he could feel their gaze follow him into the elevator. Even when the door slid close, he still felt the eyes on his back. He knew what they must be thinking. What would someone like him, an insignificant mistress, be doing at this place when Asami was dead? After all, only Yoh seemed to really understand the depth of the relationship between the two star-crossed lovers.

Akihito snorted at the thought.

_Star-crossed? Snap out of it, you fool, this is no Shakespeare tragedy._

The sixty floor climb seemed to last an eternity until it stopped and the door slid open. One of the bodyguards bowed as he passed by.

_What the…_

Another bodyguard opened the door to what used to be Asami's office.

The office was just as it was. Nothing removed. Nothing added. Even the faint scent of Asami's cologne still lingered, just barely, but it was still there, slowly ebbing away.

"I made sure they paid the proper respects to Asami-sama's lover. You _are_ his lover, are you not?" Yoh was leaning against the front of Asami's desk.

He still talked as though Asami was still alive, and in a way, Akihito found solace in pretending his love was still alive. He knew well that it was a charade, that they would soon have to face the reality.

Akihito nodded slowly. Asami trusted Yoh, enough to put him in charge after his…murder. He, too, must put all his faith in the man. One did not earn Asami's confidence for nothing, after all.

"Take a seat," Yoh motioned to the chair as he went around the desk.

Akihito stood his ground.

"I'd rather stand."

"Takaba-san, if you truly wish to discuss the means of avenging Asami-sama, then do expect to be here several hours. Until morning," Yoh said as he sat down and pulled up several stacks of filed paper from a drawer, "And there is the matter of Asami-sama's will for you."

Reluctantly, Akihito sank into the seat, setting his backpack down at his feet, "He left a will?"

"Yes, I would expect a man like Asami-sama to be prepared for death."

Akihito stood abruptly and slammed his hands down onto the desk, "Don't you _dare_ talk that way!"

"It was not an insult towards Asami-sama, Takaba-san. Rather, it was a warning. For _you_."

"Are you telling me leave a will?"

"No," Yoh slid forward a photograph. Of a lifeless Asami, still leaning against the wall, the phone clutched in his hand, his shirt drenched in blood. Akihito's hand immediately went to the pocket where the object was "I'm warning you, Takaba-san, of the dangers that we, and you as well now, face."

Akihito's hand trembled as it touched the photo and traced the glossy surface from the hair, over the closed eyes, the bloody lips, the chest, over the wound... He abruptly retracted his hand and sank into the chair, his head in his hands, staring at the floor.

"Takaba-san," Yoh took the photograph back, "That may very well happen to you. Or me. Or to any of us that live in the underworld. Are you still willing to do this?"

Akihito looked up, fury in his amber eyes, "Of course."

_I see what you saw in him, Asami-sama. He is worthy of your love indeed._

Yoh nodded, "Very well." He put his hand on top of the stack, "these are the people that either had a direct involvement in Asami-sama's murder or were indirectly involved as leaders of the rival group that plotted the assassination. The first one," he handed Akihito the top file, "is the man that was ordered to kill him. He has already been detained by the police, but we can always work out his release, if that is what you wish. The images were recorded minutes after he attacked Asami-sama." The release for certain death, Yoh implied.

Akihito opened the file. His heart filled with hate at the sight of the black and white screen shots of surveillance cameras. He had detested whoever took Asami away from him, but now, looking at the man, he loathed the blurry figure, "I want him." He handed the file back to Yoh.

"As you wish," Yoh knew what Akihito meant. He wanted to kill the man himself, that's what the young photographer had meant, he wanted to see pain in the assassin's eyes, he wanted to see agony and fear and terror the moment he ended the man's life. Yoh felt a chill slide down his spine; he had underestimated the wrath that he had unleashed.

Akihito was worse than the Pandora's Box, for there was no _hope_ in Akihito. If anything, hope was the very last thing in the passionate lover. His hope had died with Asami-sama.

Yoh went over the files, seven of them total, one by one, explaining in detail the premise of the assassination, the who, what, when, where, and why of Asami's death, the details that he couldn't bring himself to listen to over the phone.

"The group is fairly established in the Chiba region, but hasn't set foot in Tokyo but has limited influence in Kanagawa, Saitama, and Tokyo, which is where Asami-sama's influence ran. They were vying for more control in Saitama, which, of course, Asami could not allow especially for its proximity to Tokyo; enemies are not always to keep close to you. Particularly nowadays."

"Did they think killing Asami would help?"

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"They hoped to gain a window of few days during which they could turn the balance of power to their advantage. However, power is not so easily gained."

Akihito's eyes were focused and concentrated despite the faint glimmers of a rising sun behind Yoh, signaling a new day to come.

"When will this be?"

"We cannot strike now; their security is still at its highest. Of course, they expect retaliation, but they cannot keep their guard up forever. Takaba-san," Akihito looked up at Yoh, "this is a war of attrition, not a blitzkrieg."

Akihito nodded. He understood. Patience. That was what he needed now. Above all things, patience.

"And now the matter of Asami-sama's will," Yoh opened another drawer and pulled out a black binder, "This is his entire will."

Akihito swallowed, "For whom?"

"For everything and everyone he decided deserved his attention, one of those fortunate people being you, Takaba-san."

"Me?"

"Well, yes. He may not have said much, but he loved you very much. More than any of his relatives, I'm sure."

"He had relatives?"

"Very, very distant ones, mostly through marriages and such in the family. Blood-wise though, no, he did not," Yoh opened to a marked page, "This section, Takaba-san, is for you." He slid the binder across the desk, "I have read the legal part of it, but I believe he left a letter for you."

Akihito slowly reached forward and took the binder.

Asami had left an envelope. Akihito broke the seal and let the paper fall out.

_To my beloved Akihito,_

_I sincerely hope that there will never come a day when you will read this letter for its proper purpose, but if you are reading this letter now because I am no longer living, then I weeping with you, Akihito, for our time together has ended._

_If I ever made you feel alone and lonely, then I am sorry. If I ever made you feel abandoned and unappreciated, then I am sorry. If I ever failed to love you as I should and show you that I loved you, then I am sorry for that as well. But what I am most regretful is that, if any of these were true, then I have already lost the chance to redeem myself. A man's opportunities die with the man._

_I know very well that you would never allow me or anyone else for that matter to win you over with superficial gifts, but what I leave you with my death, I implore you to accept, for they are the remnants which you will have to remember me by. _

_It is selfish of me to ask you to keep you in your heart, but that is exactly what I ask of you. Even in death, I am reluctant to release my possessive grip on you, and without letting go, I have died._

_Whatever path you may choose to follow, it is up to you. That, Akihito, I would never dream of changing, but dream of me, my love. If only a day in a year, dream of me, Akihito, because I will dream of you in death._

_Forever with you,_

_Asami Ryuichi_

Akihito quietly folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope, he swallowed the bitter tears. He would not cry before others. His tears would flow into the four chambers into his heart and circulate his grieving body, but nothing would flow past his skin.

Silently, he turned the page and quietly read the remainder of Asami's will.

"He left you all his over-seas residences, which will be maintained by the company, twenty million American dollars, fifteen million Euros, and a hundred million yen in monetary assets, a Swiss bank account, whose information is not contained in the will for security reasons, and his private home in the Yamanashi prefecture as well as a private flat here in Tokyo, both of which I believe you have been to."

Akihito shook his head, "I can't _possibly_ accept these."

"Takaba-san," Yoh took a deep breath, "if you do not accept what Asami-sama had left to you, they will all be sold and the monetary assets will be absorbed into the company."

"Then…"

"The records of Asami-sama will be lost."

Akihito closed the binder and nodded, "Alright, I'll accept, but I don't even know what to do with them."

"Get a lawyer."

"I don't trust lawyers."

"I see."

"What about you?"

"Pardon me?"

"What has he left you?"

"He designated my position."

Akihito's voice dropped, "That's not what you wanted, was it?"

"No, it was not, but I follow the man's will."

"Then take what he's left me."

Yoh stood up abruptly, "Takaba-san, I do not mean to be disrespectful, but if you brush aside Asami-sama's will, then there is _nothing_ more insulting to me and I'm sure to Asami-sama as well. Reconsider it. Think about what you have just said. Try and understand _why_ he would leave you with what he has left you, Takaba-san. The man has reason behind everything he does, and I am sure there is meaning behind everything he left for you."

_Reason behind everything he does…then why did you leave, Asami? Where is the sense in that?_

Akihito nodded, "Alright. I'll…follow his will."

Yoh nodded, "I will stay in touch with you, regarding the plans and preparations."

"When?"

"Three months will be the first strike. Meanwhile, I need you to start familiarizing yourself with firearms," Yoh reached into his jacket and reached for his gun. He laid down the pistol on the desk, "take it and keep it with you at all times. The weather's still fairly cold, so you should be able to hide it under a coat. You don't necessarily have to learn any close combat, but I'll teach you the basics. Also, I will meet you at the firing range three times a week. Be there when I when I tell you, understood?"

"Yeah," Akihito weighed the gun in his hand. It felt bulky already. Dangerous, too, like a bomb that detonate spontaneously.

"Good. Tonight, then, I'll have one of them pick you up at six o'clock sharp. Don't be late."

Akihito was at the doorway when he stopped and turned, "Thank you, Yoh. I really am grateful for this."

When he disappeared into the hallway, Yoh sighed.

_Grateful…for ruining you…_

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, throwing the beginnings of its glory onto the deadly city. Sunlight hid the darkness during the day and darkness reigned at night.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito leaned back into the hard wooden back of the chair, covering his face with his hands. The disassembled parts of the semi-automatic lay on a white clothe before him on the kitchen table. It was the ninth time he had disassembled the gun that night, and Yoh's past lessons still ran like broken records in his mind.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"_This_," Yoh held up the handgun, "is a double-action semi-automatic handgun. Do you have any idea what that means?"

Akihito shook his head.

"A double-action means that the hammer needs not be cocked before the first shot in order to strip away the top cartridge from the magazine. Cartridge," Yoh held up a single round, "is the proper nomenclature for what the average person commonly, and mistakenly, refers to as the 'bullet.' The bullet, in reality, is the very tip of the cartridge, the part that is actually fired from the gun. When you pull the trigger, the firing pin strikes the primer" he showed Akihito the back of the cartridge, "and ignites it. That in turn ignites the powder. The expanding gases will then push the projectile, i.e. the bullet, forward, through the barrel," Yoh looked up at Akihito, "Are you following this?"

"Somewhat."

"Alright. In a semi-automatic, when the bullet finally leaves the barrel, the lug-lock, which holds the slide and the barrel together until the projectile is completely free, unlocks, allowing the slide to pull back. That will eject the used cartridge and strip a new cartridge from the top of the magazine, which is this," Yoh held up the somewhat rectangular block, "and reload the cartridge into the chamber of the barrel. This is an extremely simplified explanation, but you'll the details later. Am I going to fast?"

"Not at all."

"Alright then," he held the magazine and a single cartridge in his hand, "Each magazine usually holds ten to fifteen rounds but there are some that can go up to twenty or even thirty, depending on the type you get; yours hold fifteen. The gun model here is the Glock 17, which uses the 9 mm Luger cartridges. Don't try to stick something else in here. I'm very serious when I say that. The model's gone through 25 years of modeling and adjustments to offset errors, but that doesn't mean that you should neglect them; no gun is ever perfect, remember that. Also, a 9mm will not take down a man unless you hit somewhere like, say, the head. Therefore, if you ever happen to fire at anyone around the torso area, don't ever stop with just one shot. A determined attacker won't fall with that."

"But…is this what you usually carry?"

"It's what I've always carried. It may not have so much of the so called 'stopping power,' but I recommend it for you. It's reliable and it's accurate. Once you master the basics, perhaps then you should switch to a Glock 22, almost the same, but very different because it uses a bigger cartridge."

Yoh handed him the magazine and slid a box of cartridge toward Akihito, "Now fill the magazine."

Akihito took it hesitantly then one by one filled his way to hell.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

That was three months ago.

Akihito's hand moved mechanically and effectively over the parts, putting them back together as if it were instinct to him, easier than breathing. The mindlessness of the process was soothing, and for the short time his fingers worked meticulously, he could purposely drown himself, mentally whispering the steps, the sear pin, the safety, slide the spring forward, never forget to check the chamber, make sure the slide moves smoothly, alleviating the pain he carried deep inside his soul.

Yoh took him every step of the way, making room in his tight schedule every night of the week except Sundays to train him. Every other day, the two went to the range and Yoh watched over as the boy practiced, firing round after round, and pointed out flaws, corrected errors the experienced photographer had, shaved off the rough edges of an icy sapphire, chipped off the imperfections until each and every glitch in the deadly stone was gone.

On the days when they were not at the range, Akihito received basic close-combat instructions, and even now, there was a large bruise on his side from the three nights ago. Together, they honed his timing and coordination, balance and power, and Akihito relished in the improvements he made simply because they meant some sort of progress when he felt as though time had frozen.

The intensity helped him keep his mind off the growing void in his heart. Every morning he woke in the same cold bed and swallowed lumps of pain down his throat, forcing the urge to cry into his stomach, where he only hoped the acid would corrode it down to nothing. But sometimes, he felt he could vomit out all the grief and anguish he pushed down his throat.

Picking up the assembled handgun, he stood slowly and glanced at his watch, 3 A.M. He took one last glance at the blueprint of a building that lay on the kitchen counter, running through the plan once more in his mind. His eyes called for sleep though he was in no mood for sleep and forced his feet to carry him towards the dreaded bedroom, the most potent reminder to Asami's…absence.

He placed the pistol under the pillow and without changing out of his clothes, fell atop the bed and closed his eyes.

That night, he dreamed of nothing.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Yoh glanced at Akihito with his peripheral vision. The young man was surprisingly composed and collected. He did not fidget or move uncomfortably in his seat as the car moved ever closer to their destination.

Just barely, he could make out the faint outlines of the bullet resistant jacket under the gray shirt Akihito wore, but the holster and the content it in was in plain sight, covered only by the arm.

_What are you thinking…_

What turmoil was hidden beneath that cool exterior? What hidden emotions lurked beyond the expressionless face that did not blink?

"Takaba-san."

Akihito abruptly turned his head from the window, as if he had been deep in thought.

"You can still turn back."

He shook his head, "I appreciate your concern, Yoh, but I've afraid this is something I've… vowed to carry out," he smiled, but there was no joy in it, only sorrow and grief.

Yoh nodded as Akihito turned to look out the window again. The skyscraper where the would-be victim loomed large over them, shining against the night sky, unaware of the dangers ahead.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

On the top floor, a shot was fire, followed by another, then another, until an entire magazine was emptied into the dead man's back. Each time, the bullet lodge itself into the flesh with a dull thud, the pool of blood spreading slowly around the corpse, clinging to the white soles of his shoes.

_Is this what you died for…_

The gunshot's echo mixed with another burst.

_This hell…_

For the first time in three months, tears trickled down from lover's weeping eyes, spilling what had been too long suppressed.

_I'm not very far from you… am I, Asami?_

Yoh and the other men watched as Akihito discharged the magazine and replaced it with another, locking it into the butt of the pistol. But no matter how many more bullets buried itself into the dead man, Asami would never come back. Akihito knew, and for that very reason, he mutilated the body until the last cartridge was spent and nothing happened when he pulled the trigger. He tried again, but nothing came forth from the empty barrel.

_What should I do…_

Everyone stood motionless, silent and unmoving spectators to the tragedy.

Akihito's arms fell to his sides and he stood there, his eyes fixed on the bullet-riddled body.

_What have I done…_

He leaned his head back and covered his eyes with his left hand.

"Asami…what have I done…" he whispered into the bloody silence.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The door slammed shut behind him as he stumbled into the apartment, fumbling for the lights in the darkness. He didn't bother to kick of his shoes, not with the urge to vomit gnawing at the base of his throat as he rushed into the toilet. Just barely did he make it, bile spilling into the toilet. How filthy he felt. Disgusting and repulsive. Foul.

Despicable.

There was no blood on him, but he still felt as though the crimson, viscous liquid was pasted to his skin, a mark of the atrocity he had committed. Had he really done that? Had he really pointed the gun which he still felt underneath his arm, tucked into its holster, at a living human and fired, pulled the cursed trigger. Again. And again.

And again…

The image of the bloody, mutilated man flashed across the back of his eyes, like a negative imprinted into his retina, and once again, he vomited.

A part of him rejected the very idea. And another part of him, a far more desperate side of him embraced it. What he had done was right…wasn't it? Asami had to be avenged, did he not? And if anyone were to avenge him, the natural choice would either be the lover or the successor. But it wasn't that. He _wanted _this.

_He_ was the one that had begged Yoh to let him do the job. Akihito closed his eyes, his mouth bitter with acid and acrid bile. He had little left in his stomach to vomit. Appetite simply did not come to him these days. He forced himself to eat out of necessity from time to time but not much. He was too shallow, too… superficial. His determination was so weak that already he was afraid to face himself. Pathetic. Pitiful. A wretched creature he was…

Akihito reached up and flushed the toilet, draining the last of human guilt down the dark pipes where light never reached. He had to do this. Or did he? The question ricocheted off the inside of his mind like a stray bullet with no escape as he stripped to take a shower, peeling off the clothes that felt so dirty again his even dirtier skin, whose core was the dirtiest of all. How much obligation did he really have, he wondered, to reap revenge? Was he "entitled" somehow to killing seven men for what they done? He shoved his clothes into a corner and stepped under the shower.

The hot blast of constant water battered against his naked skin, steam rising around him, obscuring his vision. It was a long time before he stepped out, leaving wet prints all the way to the closet. He couldn't answer his questions. Not now at least, but neither could he abandon what he had started.

For now, he would follow, blind, down the path he had chosen and if he regretted it later… that was the way life was.

Regrets. That and remorse.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Five years later…

His men, Yoh knew, had initially disapproved of Akihito's involvement. They had thought the young photographer utterly incompatible with the dark underworld. In their eyes, the young photographer was too naïve, some went as far to say he was too innocent, to find a place in it. He would be a nuisance, at best an inexperienced rookie, a hopeless nuisance.

How wrong they had been. So terribly wrong.

It didn't take long before Akihito grew accustomed to his new life. Metamorphosis, if there was an appropriate word for it. As it turned out, the young man was quite efficient, deadly efficient like concentrated venom. There was never again a repeat of the first night he killed. Never again. Tears no longer carved a path down his cheeks; dry sobs did not shake his shoulders, which had grown firm and solid with training. Grief held a place only in the deepest chamber of his heart, padlocked with a void.

Had Akihito been anyone else, that is, had he not been Asami's lover, Yoh might have considered taking him on as a protégé. He was simply exceptional. Even so, the Yoh couldn't help but be disturbed by the changes Akihito had gone through. Within him, where light once reigned, darkness now conquered. His mental state seemed to have shifted in general. Not that the man was insane or anything. Rather, he was too astute, his senses too acute. He read people and situations like an open book, a most fascinating change, and around him, there was a fatal calmness and a quiet, subtle dignity.

Yoh didn't want to admit it, but he caught glimpses, during passing moments, of Asami in Akihito. The very idea was chilling. Certainly, Akihito did not exude the same power that Asami did, but he _had_ obtained a distinct aura. He could walk into Sion without looking out of place. His dress had changed. While he still maintained his faded jeans and running shoes, he wore semi-formal dress shirts now, buttoned down with a tie and simple cuff links, a result of his new occupation as assistant professor of photojournalism at Tokyo University. His hair, on the other hand, was chestnut only at the very edges. Just a trace of his past was left on the tips of black strands.

A few years after Asami's death, Akihito began attending most of the meetings with Yoh, sitting on the right hand side. Usually, he said little to none, passing hours in silence. He would watch, looking from man to man, analyzing. His eyes could drill through the cool exterior of some of the most powerful executives, making even the most collected men fidget in their seats. Yoh soon realized Akihito did this for a reason, just to see who was weak and strong, strong and weak, and other times, this is what bothered Yoh the most, he did it for amusement.

Akihito may have completed his revenge, eventually killing all seven men within the course of two years, but the change seemed permanent. Yoh wondered sometimes, what pain Akihito hid behind his mask.

A serious conversation with Akihito was like walking on the edge of a razor blade. He had filtered out most of the profanity in his speech, and if anyone crossed him, the sarcasm he sometimes produced could cut deep. Even through all these changes, what mystified Yoh most though was Akihito's unchanging openness and friendliness to him. He wondered sometimes, just how had he arrived at this relationship with Akihito?

In the course of five years, the two had become close. They had started out as, at best, as "acquaintances," but now, to any outsider, it looked as though the two of them had known each other since childhood. Yoh shook his head in disbelief as he stared at the shelves upon shelves of books in Akihito's new apartment.

He heard Akihito's footsteps padding into the living room and turned, "Nice place you got."

"It took me a while to find," Akihito set down Yoh's drink on the black coffee table before falling back into a recliner.

"When did you start looking for an apartment?"

"Hm…three months or so ago. All these books didn't fit in the old apartment." It was true. Akihito had begun reading shortly after Asami's death, perhaps just another way to fill that gap he must have felt. He bought every book he read, as a keepsake, and already, the living room walls were covered with them.

"I don't see a darkroom here though." Yoh looked around. He could see the bedroom, a guest bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, and study.

Akihito didn't reply right away. Instead, he paused. Then when Yoh met his eyes, he responded nonchalantly, "That's because there isn't one."

"I see."

"The professor at the university lets me use his studio any time I want."

"Do you still take photos much?"

"Well… I just can't anymore, at least not to the extent I used to," he smiled but only ruefully, "I just can't. Does that make sense? I've been hooked on photography ever since I can remember but now I can't…" he sucked in his breath then exhaled exhaustedly, "I'm sorry, I'm just…"

Yoh nodded, not in agreement, but in understanding, "Will you ever start again?"

"Perhaps…" a cynical chuckle escaped Akihito's dry lips, "Perhaps not…"

By now, Yoh, had sat down in one of the simple but comfortable recliners, facing Akihito. He had been observing the younger man carefully. Lately, Akihito looked more and more tired. Drained and jaded. During the day, he hid his lethargy, smiling and laughing as though he lived the perfect life. He fooled everybody. Yoh, too, would have believed the face he put up if not for his close relationship with Akihito, and even then, he caught himself almost believing the ruse.

"You look tired, Takaba."

"That's because I am," he reached forward for the cocktail he had made himself. It was an infrequent hobby of Akihito's, making his own peculiar drink, usually unnaturally sweet and diluted. He made sure never to drink beyond his limit, which to be honest, wasn't much. "Anyway, how's Keiko?"

Keiko was Yoh's half-English, half-Japanese girlfriend, the first he had had since joining Asami the same number of years ago and they had already been going out for three years. It was in part necessity and part willingness. There was no doubt, or none that he could sense at the moment, that he liked the woman. Love was still too strong a word; it was a dangerous word. On the other hand, his position required a "mistress" so to speak, a woman, preferably the same one, at his side during receptions and such. In any case, she was an intelligent woman, a geosciences engineer. She had moved to Japan to get to know the country of a mother she only vaguely knew from stories of her English father.

Yoh had called Akihito to dinner one night, saying he had an important matter to discuss. Turned out, he wanted to introduce his new lover, much to Akihito's surprise since he had always thought that Yoh was one of the rather quiet men that preferred solitude over anything else. At any rate, the new couple seemed happy despite Yoh's occupation. From the very beginning he had told her vaguely what his job consisted of, and shockingly, she accepted it. It didn't mean she approved of it, but she seemed to understand the situation.

Besides, she herself was quite the peculiar woman. Taller than most men though still substantially shorter than Yoh, Keiko was athletic. Rock climbing and Tae Kwon Do, a Korean martial arts, were her main hobbies, not to mention that her marksmanship with the handgun was superb and she did triathlons for fun.

Akihito didn't pay her much attention at first, but lately, she was paying a lot of it at him. She was a good five years older than him and was quite concerned with his wellbeing, having noticed that he was, in her words, "a bit off." Yoh warned her to not exacerbate any wounds, but that was all he told her.

He himself had no plans of "salvaging" Akihito. The man was capable enough to get him out of this ditch. It might take ten years, but eventually it would happen. Losing a precious person was nothing easy to overcome. For Yoh, it had taken a good ten years, and even now, the loss still hurt though the pain was bearable. The initial sense of defeat took a long time to fade into a dull ache that continued to echo faintly within him.

Yoh looked up from his glass of cognac at Akihito, "You look troubled."

"Do I?"

Yoh nodded mutely.

"Do you know why?"

"No, but you can tell me about it."

"The professor is retiring." A short pause, "Okay, he's not retiring, but he's leaving for some other work. Some photographic venture in…which country was it…Morocco."

"Are you talking about the university professor?"

"Right."

"So will you take his post?"

"Well…it certainly looks like it."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"I suppose."

"You should do it." Yoh _wanted_ Akihito to do this; it was the only way to keep him anchored to something he had a passion for. "You even went back and got a Ph.D. to do this. I know _that_ took some effort."

"I told the dean I'd make the decision by tomorrow…" Akihito sighed then. It wasn't heavy or overly long, neither was it exaggerated in any way, but his exhaustion, his _mental_ exhaustion, was obvious, "I'm sorry, I know you have more important things in mind. Speaking of which, how is the casino venture going?"

"Ah, I still have some legal matters to figure out and some final details to iron out, but it's going rather well. Keiko's definitely pleased."

"Ah, is she?"

"Yes, and…" this time, Yoh hesitated.

"What?"

"She's pregnant."

Akihito smiled brightly, genuine happiness lighting his usually dark face, "Congratulations. Boy or girl?"

"We don't know yet, but either way, I'll be happy."

"Lucky baby then."

"Hm?" Yoh had caught a hint of remorse in what Akihito had just said.

"Some people have preferences..."

"Ah. But no, as long its healthy, I'm fine whether it's a boy or girl."

"Have you thought of a name?"

"Keiko wants to give it an English name."

"And you want to give it a Japanese one."

"Clearly."

"Ah…well…pick one that works for both then."

"We've been looking."

"Does anyone else know?"

"We're keeping it low profile." It was the wise thing to do. Family members were often the main target in the underground world and Keiko practically carried a target sign on her back just with her proximity to Yoh.

"If you need any help…" Akihito's voice was serious then. He knew.

"I know…I know…"

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

It was late November by the time the professor resigned his post and left for Morocco, essentially leaving Akihito with only three weeks of classes before the winter break began. Despite all the commotion about global warming and other such climate crisis, the winter was still on the colder side of the scale, and snow actually set in soon after he took up his new post.

Already, he was wrapped up in a thick coat as he headed to his first class from the metro station, his backpack slung over one shoulder. Beneath the outer coat, he had a lighter jacket, one that he wouldn't take off in front of his students, for it hid something that he would never show anyone. Underneath the coat, a small handgun was tucked discreetly into its holster; it had become a familiar weight that he sometimes _almost _forgot was there, though never could he erase its presence entirely from his mind. _That_ was impossible.

The snow just barely coated the ground upon which he treaded, a subtle blanket of white. It was a shame he had to trample it to get to the studio, ruining the purity which he so envied. He could still vaguely remember the time when he hadn't been tainted, when he wasn't just another product of human vices. Even so, it was just that, a vague memory, much like trying to remember some faint detail from one's infancy, no doubt present but out of reach.

He crossed the final courtyard and pushed the door open with his free hand, glad to be out of the cold. The studio was to the left, if he remembered correctly, and he turned the corner, trying to thaw out before he began his class. This was nothing new. He had filled in several times for the professor during the usually frequent absences, and not much could go wrong. It wasn't as though he was dealing with nuclear physics or testing combustive chemical reactions. He expected nothing much special as he entered the studio.

"Good afternoon, class."

"Good afternoon, professor."

It was one of the more informal classes; after all, with the chaotic studio setting, it was difficult to maintain a formal atmosphere. Akihito set down his things on the wide desk at the front and hung his coat before facing the students. He did a quick count and frowned. There was one person missing. He had never really taken attendance before as an assistant professor and the school had yet to hand him the official list of students.

"Who's missing?" he asked.

After a moment of silence, a timid hand surfaced above the familiar faces of the students.

"Yes?"

"There's a student that hasn't been to class the entire year."

"What's her name?"

"It's a he, and…I don't know his name, professor."

Akihito sighed, "Anybody know his name?"

To his dismay, blank faces looked at him as if to say 'we have no idea,' blinking like lost parrots.

"All right, let's get started then. As you all know the previous professor has resigned his post for photographic ventures." A soft wave of whispers washed over the room then settled quickly again, "Right then, I don't know what you have been doing with the previous professor but…"

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Yoh shook hands with the last of his appointments for the day, maintaining his composure right up until the person was out the door and he was finally alone in his office. It had been a long week, working out the final details of the casino deal, made more even more hectic by the fact that the Russians had been getting more and more aggressive lately. It certainly didn't help when the Chinese triad was trying to plant moles into the group either. It was almost as though the three sides, the Chinese, the Russians, and the Japanese were all trying to pretend that the one man named Asami had never _occurred_, never existed, never saw life on this damned, god-forsaken planet. Yoh could hardly say he was content with it, but…if that was what they wanted, well, he could forgive them at least that much though not more.

But above all, Keiko was on his mind. She had had to take a leave because of her severe morning sickness. Now she had several bodyguards at her side, which probably wasn't helping her much to relax. She didn't complain though. Her privacy, it seemed, was something she was willing to sacrifice for her and her child's safety, something Yoh was grateful for. If any harm ever touched her, he wasn't sure he would be able to forgive himself. It was the very reason that they hadn't married, just to keep it as low-profile as possible.

He wondered now and then if he had made a fatal mistake. Asami had nearly lost his beloved and he had been a powerful man. Yoh wondered just how much he had in common with Asami. Did he wield the same control? Certainly not. Although…Akihito had told him not to let the differences bother him. "They're not weaknesses. They're just _you_." Yoh only hoped he was right because otherwise…otherwise he would be utterly, hopelessly lost.

For now though, he had to send a long list of emails to his contacts. Such things he never left to secretaries, for it was crucial that _he _was the one that was maintaining correspondence with these men. Personal skills, he had learned, were probably _the_ most important factor of all. Asami had

Behind him, the computer hummed almost silently, urging him to finish his job. He would have to meet with Akihito later in the night.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

By the time Akihito had finally finished reviewing the portfolio of every, single student, the afternoon had long gone by and ushered in the dark hours of the night. He had spent the rest of the hours after class sorting through the stack of folders, making mental notes on his students as he sorted their folios in their appropriate stacks; the previous professor, it seemed, had a knack for disorganization.

Closing the final stack, he stood slowly, stretching his back, and reached up to massage the junction of his stiff neck and tense shoulders. That place…Asami used to graze his lips over it. His strong hands used to grip his lover firmly while gentle fingers dipped into the crevice formed by the delicate collar bones. They would trace his skin and…

Akihito slammed his hands on the desk, shutting his eyes as tight as he could.

Just when…just when was the last time that his lover had crept into his mind? Thinking back, he couldn't remember. He had so far been successful in keeping himself occupies and hence his thoughts as well. If there was no time, no time for straying thoughts, then he would never find himself caught in the painful process of reminiscing into a past that he would rather forget. He had managed that so far…he must be slipping up…

But that bittersweet moment had been completely unexpected. With a sigh, he glanced at his watch: half past midnight. But it was Friday night and frankly, he had no urge to go home. He was exhausted no doubt, but he knew full well that he wouldn't sleep even if he tried. Absentmindedly, he threw on his coat and picked up his backpack to leave. He would probably have to come by tomorrow and Sunday to get the studio organized the way he saw fit.

On his way out, he flicked off the light and checked that the studio was locked; there was enough equipment inside to make him worry. Just before heading outside into the cold, he wrapped the coat tighter around his body, preparing himself for the blast of icy air. And it came, just as he opened the door a crack. Frigid wind pelted his skin with wispy strands of white snow as it blew the foggy steam of his breath into his face.

As he walked, the phone in his back pocket began to vibrate. Reluctantly, Akihito pulled his hand out of the warmth of the coat pockets and reached for the phone. He gave the small screen one glance.

"Yoh?"

"You picked up finally." Just from his voice, Akihito could tell that Yoh was exhausted this week.

"Hm…what makes you say that?"

"I called you twice before, but you didn't answer."

"Did you really," he hadn't realized. This puzzled him, had he been so absorbed in his work? "I didn't hear it, my bad. I was getting some stuff done in the studio."

"That's what I figured. Anyway, where are you?"

"I just left about a minute ago, why?"

"Really now… don't push yourself too hard."

"Heh. You're the one still in your office."

There was an odd silence from the other side, "How did you know?"

"Most of the time, you never called me from home."

"Ah…you have a point."

"Back to what we were saying, why did you call?"

"I need to talk with you. Are you busy later?"

"What's this about?"

"It's a big complicated…"

"Tomorrow…yeah, I can do that."

"I imagine so. Want to go into it or…"

"Over the line, I'd rather not. You're heading to your usual place, right?"

Precautions. _Always _precautions. "Yeah, I am, but I can go to the office if that's easier."

"Don't do that. I need a break, too, from the office as well. I'll meet you down at the place in about… an hour or so."

"It'll take me half an hour to get there, so…yeah…that sounds good."

"An hour from now then?"

"Yes, I'll talk to you then. Right now, my phone's getting cold and it's freezing off my ear lobes."

"Haha, alright, and by the way, stop by the house this weekend if you want, Keiko would be glad to have a real visitor once in a while."

Akihito laughed softly, "I don't know if I even count as a visitor. Anyway, see you soon."

A click ended their short-lived conversation. Most of their phone calls were this way, speaking mostly on implicit terms. Nothing was spelled out clearly in their messages, both preferring to talk face to face in private. It didn't eliminate the chance of bugs but it certainly reduced the chances of any interceptions.

Akihito slid the phone into the back pocket again and flagged down a taxi. It cost a lot more, but it was too cold to walk all the way to the metro station. He was headed for the same bar that he sought out every Friday and Saturday night. It was blocks away from the popular, over-crowded downtown entertainment areas and hidden from the general public.

Once inside the cab, Akihito settled comfortably into the leather seat, glad to be out of the cold. He lay his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. Once or twice, he looked out the window at the streets where people were still walking about as was normal on weekend nights. The cab driver glanced behind but said nothing, not caring to strike up a conversation with the jaded, quiet customer half-sleeping in the back seat.

As the cab approached the destination, Akihito forced himself alert again, taking out his wallet for the bill.

"Stop here, please."

"Are you sure, sir? We can go a bit further if you'd like."

"No, here is fine."

With a nonchalant shrug, the driver pulled up to the sidewalk and the cab came to a stop. As Akihito stepped out, he placed the bill in the man's hand, "Keep the change."

He asked to stop here every time, preferring to walk the same route. From here, he headed down two more blocks, passing crowded bars and club, turned right into a narrow, quiet street where the stores had long closed for the day.

The bar he frequented was unmarked; no neon signs flashed its discreet existence. Even the entrance appeared rusty and unused. It was underground in a good-sized basement that had been meagerly renovated and refurnished. The floor had been left as it was, dull, grey concrete with the usual same coldness throughout. The lights were bare, dim bulbs hanging on wires from the ceiling, and the tables and chairs looked as though they had been salvaged from the trash dump of a moved-out apartment. The raised counter which served as the bar took up the wall farthest from the entrance and was the only feature of the place that identified the place as a bar. Behind it, even the more obscure drinks from around the wall covered the panels, a treasure trove of liquor and sprites.

Akihito opened the unmarked door which led into the basement. As soon as the door closed behind him, the noise outside was hushed into a muffled hum like low whispers from some alternate universe. It was probably for this reason that he found himself returning here time and time again, to this surreal place.

But he was not the only one that felt this way, for nearly all of the clients were regulars. A new face would show up every now and then only to join the army of regulars. People from all backgrounds found safe haven here, a refuge from the turmoil outside, attracting musicians, businessman, engineers, professors, writers, etc. There was eve this one man that Akihito recognized as a detective that he had seen around the police station from years ago when he was still involved in that line of work.

Akihito headed straight for his usual place, the last seat on the bar, and exchanged nods with the bartender that kept the place. The man was probably to intelligent for this sort of living. He memorized faces with a glance and even remembered the corresponding drink that each client had ever ordered. He claimed to be a drop-out med student from years ago already, but who knew?

The truth was, nobody really knew much about anybody. A female customer could be divorced, married, never married, or twice married and nobody knew. One could be bi, homo, hetero, transvestite for only God knew and it was a secret. At any rate, people preferred it that way.

Akihito sat down, laying his backpack at his feet near the stool. With his elbow propped up, he leaned into the counter, cool eyes scanning his surrounding. He would sit here like this for hours, sometimes striking up a quiet, easy conversation with a stranger, sometimes not. Today though, he didn't much feel like talking; he had stopped by just for the sake of stopping by. It gave him something to do, or at least he liked to think so.

Katashi, as the bartender called himself, was walking towards him, wiping his hand on a small, navy towel.

"Takaba-san, you came later than usual today," he said with a light smile.  
"I had some work keeping me behind."

"I see, but how was your week?"

"It's been good."

"Really now?" his eyebrows came up, "You usually never say a week's been good."

"What do I say usually?"

"Alright."

"What's that?"

"You almost always say that a week's been 'alright.'"

Akihito thought back for a moment, "I do, don't I?"

"You do. Anyways, are you here for a drink?"

"I'm meeting a colleague of mine, he's come by a couple times." It probably wasn't a good idea to drink with his empty stomach. "You've met him."

"Ah…him. Yes, I do remember him."

"Well, he'll be here in half an hour or so."

"Do you want to wait until then?"

"No need."

"Scotch or Sazerac?"

"Sazerac."

"Extra bitters?"

Katashi had a good memory. "You know me best," Akihito answered with a gentle smile. Here, he could afford to smile; he could afford to loosen the tight knot of his arteries and veins somehow. Once Katashi walked away to prepare the drink, Akihito returned to watching the people, musing at the small conversations underway or the people that sat alone like him, watching a piano clarinet duet playing an ambiguous, mellow tune on the small stage.

Minutes later, Katashi returned with the drink and left it with a smile before Akihito, who took it and lifted the slim glass slightly with a smile, "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

If there was any reason that he drank nowadays, it was because of the warm buzz it left inside him as the liquid burned its way down the throat and settled in his stomach, heat radiating outward to his limbs. He used to drink with his friends and get himself drunk until he threw up or ended up with a skull shattering hangover, but those days had been long over after he cut ties with his old friends. He rarely met with Kou or Takato, which was probably safer hence more beneficial to the both of them.

It hadn't been an hour yet when Yoh walked in, spotted Akihito, and made his way across the bar.

"You're early," Takaba said as he tipped his drink at him.

"An hour was just an approximation," he said as he sat next to Akihito.

"I see. Are you drinking?"

"Not tonight. Keiko's upset enough about me staying out late, no need to add alcohol to that."

Akihito chuckled, "So, what's this you wanted to talk about?"

Yoh was silent for a moment, his fingers threaded together, hands held against his mouth. "Feilong wants to see you. Or rather, he says he wants _you_ to be my right hand man in any transactions that go through with him. I don't know what else that would mean."

"He doesn't trust you, does he?"

"That's not it, Takaba, he _does_ trust me. After what I did for him against Mikhail, he knows I would never have betrayed him back then, and I know he's always true to his word."

"I never stood that, just what did you do for him?"

"Let's just say he owes me quite a bit."

"And you? Do _you_ owe him anything? Having mutual debts doesn't mean they cancel each other out. You know it. I know it. And I'm sure _he_ knows it."

"I don't know if I would call it owing anything, but enough of that. He won't do business until you're involved."

"Why me?"

"We know why it's you, but the question is, why now? Why seven years later after what happened in Hong Kong does he want to see you again?"

He couldn't help but smirk, "_You_ should know better than I. You were there the entire time." his reply came out sharper than he expected, "I wouldn't know. He's an enigma to me."

"Is he? It seemed to me back then that…you're the only one other than Asami that broke past his defenses."

Akihito gulped down the rest of the drink and stood up, leaving a large bill on the counter. "I'll do whatever you want me to. I'll go to Hong Kong or Singapore or Beijing, wherever you need me to because you're my friend. However, please don't make any assumptions about me because I've erased any that I had about you, Yoh. Let's not bring up the past."

Katashi glanced up at Akihito, who had stood up so abruptly and walked away. He was probably one of the few customers that he didn't understand much about. While he could get others talking, the young man kept a tight lip. He also noticed that this "colleague" of Akihito that came by every so often was no ordinary man. He may have looked like any other businessman, but to Katashi, it was obvious that even he was nowhere in the realm of ordinary. He approached the man, who he had never spoken to because he always left before Akihito did.

"A drink, sir?"

"No, thank you though."

"Hm…it's rare to see Takaba-san this upset."

"Pardon me?"

"He's a very controlled person. I've never seen him bolt like this."

"Is he controlled?"

"I would say so, yes, he is. I mean, I would assume you're very close to him, sir, are you not?"

"And what would make you jump to such conclusions?"

"You're the only other person that I've seen him with in two years."

Yoh frowned slightly, "He's never brought anyone else?"

"No, he comes here on weekend nights for hours, but always alone unless you come, sir."

"I hadn't realized," he whispered to himself.

"Sir?"

"No, nothing." Yoh picked up his coat to leave, laying down his tip on the counter, "_Do_ look out for him, will you? He's in a lot of pain."

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito was furious as he made his way down the street. Not at Yoh however. He couldn't even think of an occasion when he had been upset because of Yoh, for the man was probably one of the most intuitive and tactful person he'd ever met. Rather, he was angry at himself, angry for snapping at Yoh the way he had. That man was the only one that understood him, and Akihito had been foolish enough to mistreat him tonight. With a frustrated sigh, he realized that now that he had bolted from the bar rather unceremoniously, he probably wasn't going to return there tonight. That meant that he would either head over to another bar or club or wherever the night led him or go home to his empty apartment; the latter, he had known long before, was out of the question. He didn't want to be alone, cooped up like a misanthrope.

For the first time in a long time, he walked aimlessly down the street, approaching the crowded places, places he would normally despise. The neon lights flashed at him like sirens, beckoning him. Saying, _come drown with us tonight. Come die with us tonight. Tonight_, it didn't seem such a bad idea. Tonight…just tonight he might indulge himself. Maybe even let himself get drunk. Lose himself in the sweet, merciful oblivion. Of course, he would probably wake up to have a hangover for breakfast, but…then again, he would just merit that physical punishment. If he died in the snow or got hit by a car, well…that's just the way life was. Not that he would go commit suicide or anything. Not that. He might be a bit lost from time to time, but he wasn't so insane as to go killing himself. Besides… he had somewhat set his life back in order now. Only a small shard of what used to be his mosaic life, but it was enough. For now, it was sufficient to keep him looking ahead. Respice finem, as they said, look to the end.

He passed a dozen bars or clubs before he found one to his liking, or rather, he had simply grown tired of walking down the streets, passing couples with linked arms and people that seemed so purposeful tonight, full of drive and motivation, as though they had their destination set. He grew tired of seeing that and decided it was time to find a place.

The club was crowded. A cloud of smoke hung over the ceiling in a haze of too many colors, like a swarm of fluorescent, gray moths hovering over the people. The booths that lined the walls were packed with people, most of them flirting around for nothing. It almost made Akihito smirk.

Just why was he here?

The bar counter was half full and he found himself a stool a few seats from the corner, waiting to be tended to by either of the two bartenders, one of whom was busy flirting with an attractive young woman at the other end and the other who was mixing a drink for another customer. The countertop was smooth and polished, cold to the touch, and he leaned on it on one elbow. He didn't mind waiting. After all, he was in no hurry tonight.

The dance floor, which meant pretty much any open space within the confines of the club, wasn't quite as occupied as the night was still young. People had taken to drinking now and soon, Akihito knew, the crowd would stand and lose their inhibition. The DJ, however, was putting out some pretty damn good mixes, rousing up the medium-sized group already on the floor. But Akihito himself would dance. He was a bit too old for that already, approaching thirty soon though he still looked twenty-five to most. Had he not been so dignified in his silence, he would have seemed even younger.

The bartender finally came up to him. "What do you want?" he screamed over the music.

"What?" Akihito leaned forward to try and hear through the noise.

"I said," the bartender screamed even louder, "WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

"Scotch!"

"What?"

"JUST SCOTCH!"

Finally having understood, he gave Akihito a nod. It was an odd choice, he knew, but who was he drinking for but himself? There were people that drank to prove themselves somehow sophisticated, mature, etc. etc. but he was not among those people. A long time ago he had stopped caring. The bartender soon came back with the drink, a glass of amber liquid, and walked away without a word. With the alcohol in his hand, Akihito turned toward the back where the DJ was still going on the turntables.

The young man wasn't dressed in anything odd, just a dark gray tee-shirt with some random images and a pair of faded jeans. His hair wasn't too long but neither was it too short, enough to be considered neat but in style, a dark brown color. His facial features were more defined. And not entirely Japanese. In fact, he could have been mistaken for a foreigner under the right light.

Akihito found him something to muse over. He couldn't tell from the chaos and the distance, but the DJ must have been about twenty to twenty-two years old, no younger, no older. Sweat was starting to roll down the side of his face, and Akihito watched as he wiped away a drop that threatened to fall into his eyes. Suddenly, the young man looked up, having felt the intensity of Akihito's eyes.

Eyes caught each other, held each other tight. For too long, the two pairs seemed to freeze though it hadn't been more than a split second. It was as though they had seen through each other in that short burst of transparency. For that moment, the world dismantled around them, links shattered, even silence was shushed into oblivion. It was as though there had not been enough time to put up a shield between the two of them, the young man had looked up at Akihito unexpectedly, catching him off guard.

He found himself shrinking away from the intensity. It was like grazing one's arm absent-mindedly over another's smoking cigarette. It scalded, it burned, left a black smudge of charcoaled skin behind, ashy residues just beneath it.

Akihito smiled casually, lifting his glass slightly at the young man, who returned it with an upward jerk of the chin, as if to say what's-up?, and returned to his task. Akihito smiled inwardly at himself as he turned away to scan the crowd for absolutely nothing, going from person to person for no reason at all. Perhaps it was a remnant habit from years ago, when he was always watching people through his viewfinder.

He had been younger then, hadn't he? Much younger. He had been wild and spontaneous. And now? Just what _was_ he now? He asked himself this question more often than he really should, trying to think back to the time when he hadn't known just how fucked up the world could be, just how cruel it could be to those caught unaware, for he himself had been caught unaware. He was naïve back then and hadn't tasted the bitterness, hadn't come face to face with the cold mercilessness.

When he looked back up to the stage where the young man had been to find him gone, his place taken by another DJ. Somewhat disappointed, Akihito finished the remainder of his glass and prepared to leave. He put on his coat and was a quarter of the way across the room when he heard shouting near one of the booths. He turned his head toward the noise.

In that moment, a stranger had lifted a table and cleared away the cocktail glasses and cups, which fell to the floor and shattered, spraying an array of glass, smooth and licked by alcohol, a kaleidoscope work of shards.

Silence fell.

"You're sitting at my table." A cold voice carried through the quiet room, "This here," the stranger's finger rested on the table top, "is _my_ table." His blond hair was sickeningly straight as it cast a shadow over his left eye.

"No, it's not. Not anymore."

Heads turned toward the second voice. Akihito recognized the person that had spoken as the disc jockey that had been on stage just a short while ago.

"Ah, it's nice to see you again. A pleasure, really." Sarcasm coated these words and none too discreetly either.

"Get out of here. You've been banned from this club. Go next door if you want, but you're not welcome here."

Akihito could see where this was going, and if someone didn't stop it soon, it could quickly escalate into something ugly. Maybe the others couldn't tell, but the intentions of this intruder were more malicious. He could tell somehow, perhaps the stance he took, some subtle tremor of anger in his voice. Something Akihito wasn't quite in the mood for tonight. It wasn't really his business, but he found himself approaching the scene, pushing through the crowd.

"I _own_ this place," the blond seethed, talking through his clenched teeth.

"I think we all know who really owns this place, and it's certainly not you."

"What? You think _you_ have the right to this club? Don't kid yourself."

"I never said that."

"Then what? You think you belong here, don't you? Let me tell you something, you don't belong nowhere. A mutt like you, a street dog, don't belong nowhere."

"Get out."

"You think a half-Japanese bastard like you with a whore of a mother can tell_ me_ what to do?"

"And you? What have _you_ got to your name other than rich, _sycophantic_ parents whose money trickles down as black money bribes? Do they even know that their _precious_ son is dealing drugs on the streets?"

The intruder's face twisted and he lunged, fist aimed at his brown haired counterpart. From then on, everything went by too quickly. He dodged and landed a kick in blonde's stomach, who crouched but then stood again to elbow his opponent's side, just below the ribs. Limbs seemed to fly chaotically at each other, fists and knees and heels, a choreographed madness. It took several people to separate them in their brawl, and they were left breathing hard, giving each other the death stare, held back by their own friends.

Young men's temper ran wild in places like these. The amount of inhibition and control, after all, was inversely proportional to the liters of alcohol present.

"Let go." The blond man jerked himself free, whipped his hair out of his face, and straightened his jacket, "Listen. This isn't child's play."

"You're the one that can't follow regulations."

"Fuck regulations."

"Tell your brother-in-law to change them then."

Akihito then saw a glint in the intruder's hand. He knew how light reflected off blades, too well if anything for he'd seen them come at him before, and he bolted forward. As the blonde charged, his head turned toward the unexpected intrusion, losing his balance as Akihito tried to stop the blade. He probably would have stopped it and caught the wrist, but things never went as he planned. One of the underlings had grabbed his coat and tried to fling him aside.

Pain seared through his arm. It had been an avalanche effect, one mistiming after another had landed him in the blade's path, and it had struck and pierced him halfway down the forearm. Had it not been for the thick layer of fabric in his coat, it could have penetrated deeper. Everyone around him, except Akihito, looked stunned. Shock and confusion.

Akihito grimaced as he pressed the wound, holding back a grunt and looked up around him, then at the blonde, who was still holding the knife, its tip smeared with red liquid. Too much attention. Too many eyes were on him now. Akihito knew he had to get out now before things became even more awkward in this place. From an outsider's point of view, this probably made no sense. A stranger suddenly getting involved in what appeared to be long-running feud? Some personal grudge between two young hothead? Unheard of. Holding his arm, he rushed out, pushing through the crowd.

Once outside, he took a deep breath, and it felt as though he were breathing in Arctic waters; the cold landed in his lungs like blocks of ice, almost as if his cells were crystallizing. What had he done? Why had he done it? Just what had driven him to throw himself into the scene like that? It had been just minutes ago, and already he couldn't remember the justification he had given himself. That is, if he had even given himself a justification. Akihito glanced at his arm, a small spot of blood was forming on his coat, which meant that a good amount of blood had already been soaked up by the layers of clothes underneath. He had to get home and get this taken care of as soon as possible.

With that in mind, he walked away from the club about two blocks and waited for another cab to drive by. The cut, he could tell without even looking, was probably a clean one. The blade had been clean and sharp. Through the frenzy of motion as it struck him probably caused minor lacerations, the wound was a shallow stab wound. But even so, there a pain. More than he had imagined actually, but he wasn't sure how he would explain this at the hospital. They would make him fill out a form and it would involve too many people.

If there was anything Akihito despised was collateral damage. As much as it would be convenient to have a doctor simply suture this up, he didn't want the entire package that came with it, thank you very much. He didn't need to get a tetanus shot either considering he had already had one some few years back after a certain incident which he didn't want to recall at this point.

Just then, a cab pulled up after too long of a wait in the cold, and he barely managed to open the door to hear a voice calling him though not by name, a voice that he recognized…somewhat.

"Hey! Hold on!"

He turned to see the young man from the club running towards him. He stopped when he finally reached Akihito and crouched with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Then, a pair of gray eyes looked up at him. He hadn't noticed the color in those eyes before, hadn't seen how pure it was. Not the murky, amber color which swam in his own.

Akihito managed a light smile, "May I help you?"

"Are- are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I am." He hadn't expected to be followed. "In fact, I was just going home now."

"With your arm like that?"

Akihito glanced at it and shrugged, "Well, it's not a serious injury. I've had much worse."

"Worse?"

"Quite worse."

Concerned eyes stared into his, "Since you're leaving already…could we meet one day?"

_That _had been unexpected. "Who knows?" Akihito didn't really want anymore involvement in this. "But honestly, I doubt we'd ever come across each other." And it was probably right. He never came by this area and bumping into the same person twice in Tokyo was…well…at best unlikely.

"Oh… then why did you do it?"

"Pardon me?"

"Why did you do it, taking the blade for me?"

"Well, the plan was to _stop_ the blade, not get stabbed by it."

"You had no business to." the reply came out aggressive, hostile almost.

"No, I didn't. I apologize."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm trying to say that you had no business risking yourself then getting hurt for a stranger's sake. Why? Why would you do something so completely irrational like that?"

"I'm afraid that would take quite a while to explain."

"I have time."

Persistent, Akihito thought as he raised his brows, perhaps this might be interesting. Something inside him wanted to test this young man, see how far he would go. Was he any different from the young street punks that roamed the streets? He wanted to find out. "Come along then."

"Huh?"

"It just so happens… I have time to kill as well."

Those eyes…they bore into him, trying to get beneath his skin and into his intentions. "You're testing me."

Persistent _and_ intuitive. He couldn't help but let the corners of his lips turn up in amusement. "That I am." Inside, he was disappointed. He had expected the boy to say yes for some reason, but his expectations had been betrayed. Akihito ducked inside and reached across to close the door with his good hand when a strong hand held the door open.

"I never said I wouldn't come."

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Yoh slipped out off his shoes and set his briefcase down near the door. From the silence, he could tell that Keiko had already done to sleep. Whenever she waited, she always had classical music playing softly in the living room, a book in her lap as she curled up on the large recliners.

He hung his winter coat on a hook mounted in the wall and took off his jacket as well and laid it across the armrest of one of the many matching sofas that sat in the living room. He honestly hadn't expected Akihito to agree. He had expected a flat out no-turning-back sort of rejection at the mention of Feilong. This show of cooperation, in more ways than one, demonstrated the part of Akihito he most valued, an undying devotion and loyalty to those he considered friends. Friends…not _allies_, for there was a clear difference.

Asami had failed in this. He had allies. Many. But how many were able to get past the barriers besides Akihito? Even his lover had penetrated only to an extent. Beyond that…who? Himself? Certainly not. He had never been more to Asami than a loyal follower. But what had Akihito said tonight? He had said that he would do whatever Yoh asked of him because he was a friend.

At least some things hadn't changed in the young man. That might have been an outdated adjective for Akihito, young. He had been through too much to be young any more. Youth was not part of Akihito. Youth had slipped away with Asami's last breath.

With a sigh, Yoh headed into his study. He wanted a bit of silence and perhaps a drink before he went to bed. The study was located at the far end of the hallway that branched from the living room. Usually the door was left open, for he didn't have many secrets to keep from Keiko and besides, he would never leave anything of significant values, information or otherwise, at home. He made sure of that.

Tonight, however, the door to the study was closed and light seeped out from the crack under it. Immediately, his hand flew to his gun. He drew it quietly and approached the room as silently as he could, praying that the floor wouldn't creak. Once at the door, Yoh threw it open.

Long hair as dark as the deepest layer of hell trailed down a broad yet elegant back. The perfect strands danced in unison as the person turned around to look at him, a cold smile as always sketched across thin lips.

"I didn't know you stayed out so late, Yoh."

With a sigh of relief, Yoh tucked the handgun into the holster and closed the door behind him. "I was talking with Takaba-san. How did you manage to get in?"

"Your wife let me in."

"I'm sure she did…" Yoh replied dryly, not finding Feilong's idea of a joke all together humorous.

An amused chuckle escaped Feilong's lips, "No. I doubt your wife would allow me to."

"Probably not."

"I simply… let myself in."

There was really no point in asking about his methods; Feilong seemed to move like water just about anywhere. His every gesture, like the way he held his glass now between his fingers, was like watching a hawk perch gracefully, gracefully yet powerfully, on a rocky summit. "What are you here for?"

"Just a conversation."

"You forget, Liu, you don't have 'conversations' with people; you have appointments and meeting and perhaps some deals but… not conversations."

"I see your opinion of me is rather harsh."

Yoh sighed, finally closing the door behind him, "Forgive me, I'm just a bit…tired today."

"The Russians giving you a hard time?"

"You have no idea…"

"I expected as much. After all, they've lost quite a bit because of you. Or, that's what they like to think at least. Russians," Feilong held up the glass the light, "can be such bitter people."

"Their hands were roaming places where they did not belong. You know that as well as I do."

"Of course, which is why I would never betray you as you have never done so to me."

"Nearly fifteen years, Liu."

"Hm…it really _has_ been a while, hasn't it?"

Neither of them spoke for a while, as though they were both were taking a moment to reminisce in the past which seemed so far away already.

It was Feilong who broke this moment of remembrance. "So, what did he say?"

"Who?"

"Akihito, of course. Did he accept the conditions?"

"You came all the way here just to ask me that?"

"It was among one of my reasons, yes."

"You are aware that you can call anytime. Though that policy might have to change once Keiko has our child."

"I wish her the best of luck," Feilong said. Yoh almost wanted to believe it.

"I'll be sure to deliver your words to her."

"Anyways, did he agree?"

"He agreed. Unwillingly, but… he agreed."

Feilong looked up, "Did he really?" It was as though the news had been unexpected.

"Like I said, unwillingly, but he said he'd do it."

"And," a split second moment of hesitation, "and how is he?"

For some reason. Yoh found his mouth empty of words; he just didn't know how to answer that question, "Well, you know him."

"No…I don't believe I do."

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito fumbled with the keys, trying to work them out somehow with his injured arm.

"May I?" the young man offered finally after watching Akihito struggled with them too long.

Reluctantly, he handed the keys over, "It's the one with letters engraved across the flat part."

As it turned out, the other man had more success at finding the key and opening the door.

"Thank you. Just leave them there on the counter by the door." He motioned with his chin as he peeled off his coat. It was difficult with the injury but he managed to take off the first one off, which was the more challenging part anyway.

"Nice place."

"It's comfortable enough."

The young man watched as Akihito took off his coat. The blood had spread wide already and he couldn't help but feel guilty as he watched this enigmatic stranger wince in pain.

"I'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Feel free to grab a book, and you can use the bathroom in the guest room if you'd like," he said to his young guest before disappearing into the bedroom. He couldn't take the second coat off in front of him. The gun would probably frighten him away. Perhaps not. But still, people tended to tense up when seeing a firearm and he wasn't out to scare any young souls tonight.

The holsters proved to be difficult to undo and when he finally managed to take off his shirt, he examined the wound carefully. It had cut across the top, shallow and clean. His initial evaluation of the wound had been right. It probably would have been a waste of time and effort to go to the hospital.

As a knife wound, it was natural that it should bleed, but the bleeding seemed to have nearly stopped though it still oozed just barely and hurt, a deep throb with every minute movement. He cleaned the entire area around it, taking clean towels, running them under hot water and wiping off the blood until all that was left was a small patch of blood around the wound, which he cleaned with hydrogen peroxide and gauze. With his guest waiting outside, Akihito worked quickly and efficiently. Besides, this was nothing compared to some of the other injuries he had had in the course of five years.

Though this wound wasn't serious, the best solution was probably sutures which were clearly not one of the options he had at the moment. He settled for butterfly bandages and stacked a layer of gauze then taped it down. It was rather a primitive way but until tomorrow when he could visit Yoh's doctor, a tight-lipped surgeon, it would have to do.

He washed his hands, making sure there was no dried blood beneath the nails, and put on a clean shirt, buttoning it down loosely and folding up the sleeves. He had kept the young man waiting in the living room for at least fifteen minutes now and checked himself so that he would look at least somewhat presentable in this stranger's awkward presence.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Why would you say that you don't know him?"

"Because I don't," Feilong answered dryly, resting his elbow on the armrest, "I only knew him for a few months, Yoh."

"During which you were with him nearly twenty-four-seven. Liu, you even _slept_ with the man."

"Please," he held up his hand, "enough of that, I don't want to remember him that way."

"For crying out loud, do you think your return will help his recovery any? I don't know what your intentions are, but I hope you realize that if you see him as he is now, it may disappoint you."

"That boy would never disappoint me."

"That…isn't what I'm trying to say. He himself would not disappoint, I don't think." He stared into Feilong's eyes, hoping, just hoping that the triad leader might understand what he was trying to get across, "Rather…the Takaba Akihito you have in your memories isn't there anymore. Takaba Akihito of seven years ago is nonexistent. He's changed."

"People change all the time."

"Jesus fucking _Christ_!" Yoh stood up abruptly, "In the ways that he has? To _that_ extent? For some reason, I doubt it. You are _not_ listening to me right now, Liu Feilong, that man is not the innocent boy you knew seven years ago. That man is not…" how could he make Feilong understand, "if anything…if anything, think of who _you_ were back then, after your father and broth-"

"You will _not _mention my family, Yoh!"

"Then listen to me. Think of your old self, remember who you used to be, what you used to be like, and you will see some of that Liu Feilong in him now. You may have changed for the better but he certainly has not."

"Then the rumors were true?"

"Which ones? There's so many rumors still surrounding Asami, it's like the man's still alive."

"That Asami's lover avenged his death. That rumor."

"Yes, it's true. Perhaps not all of it, I don't know everything people say on the streets, but the core of it is true."

Feilong was coldly silent before replying in a whisper that was tinged with controlled anger, "And you let him?"

"I had to."

"What do you mean, 'you had to'?" his voice was rising now, "What were you thinking? You know what killing does to people. You've seen it with your eyes, Yoh."

"He pleaded me. Begged to let him do it."

"So you let him go around and kill all of Asami's enemies?" Feilong stood up, too restless to stay seated, "Jesus Christ, you weren't supposed to let him, Yoh. You should _not have let him_."

"Please, don't exaggerate this. He's only killed the ones directly involved with Asami's assassination."

"And how many was that?"

"Seven."

"One for each deadly sin, hm?" Feilong's voice was bitter, biting into Yoh like daggers, reminding him of the guilt of having diminished the man named Akihito.

"I couldn't refuse," Yoh whispered, sinking again into the leather seat, "two days before the funeral, he said to me… 'maybe I should just go home.'" His face was covered with his hands, as if he couldn't bare to see anymore.

"What are you trying to say?"

"We were sitting in his apartment then, Liu. We were right there in his fucking living room when he said that! Do you not understand?! Back then, he _lived_ for vengeance. It was his only link, the only reason he lived for. I couldn't take that away from him, could you have? If you were there, would you have denied his reason for life?"

"He wouldn't have committed suicide."

"Not now, he wouldn't but you didn't see him then. You didn't see how distraught he was."

"No, I didn't. That's why I'm here now."

"You don't understand, Liu…you don't. You really don't."

"And what? It's too late? Don't tell me that, Yoh, don't you dare tell me that."

"That's not…"

"What?"

"Sometimes… sometimes I look at him and feel wretched from just _looking _at the man."

"Yoh…"

"He'll try to hide it from you, Liu. Don't fall for it."

"I don't think I would fall for anything he…"

"Haven't I said it enough already? He is _not_ innocent! He is _not _naïve! And he sure damn isn't that lamb you remember him as. He knows how to kill, he knows how to hurt, how to deceive, how to manipulate, how to wrap people around his fingers and twist and pull the strings of politics. Everything you and I know how to do, he knows. And worse, there's times when he does them better."

"Let me talk to him."

"Not now."

"Why not?"

"Because it broke him so completely."

"There are ways to be good again. For you and I, we let those chances slip by, but for him…"

"Perhaps…"

"Will you give up on him like this?"

"...as he died…" Yoh whispered something so softly that Feilong stopped.

"What?"

"Asami called him as he died…and Takaba…he couldn't do anything but listen as Asami slipped away…he could only listen…Imagine that, Feilong, imagine hearing your lover die and you're utterly helpless but to listen. I couldn't bear it. I don't know about you, but I couldn't bear it."

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito stopped at the doorway. The young man had one of Akihito's many photograph albums spread out on his lap. His fingers were careful as they turned the pages; his eyes passing over the photographs. He looked at them as intensely as Akihito looked at him while leaning on the doorway in silence, a tinge of amused melancholy indicated only by the slight curve at the corner of his lips.

The living room served as a sort of personal library and the bottom two shelves of each book shelf were reserved for thick binders, each holding hundreds of photographs, which were only small percentage, the tiny fraction that had been deemed worthy enough to be developed. These photographs had long been essentially worthless, for he hadn't looked at them for only God knows how long.

They had remained untouched until this stranger that Akihito had brought into his house on an inexplicable whim brought them out, no doubt brushing away some dust. There had been only one person before that ever gave these a serious thought: Asami. Even Akihito considered these photographs more or less useless to his photojournalistic pursuit.

Asami used to say what a waste of talent it was, that Akihito should be moving on to greater endeavors, ones that might help make a name for him. Then he would pause and with a smirk to add, Perhaps not, because I might never have gotten to know you then. Akihito would throw a small fit in return, too embarrassed to give any coherent rebuttal but secretly happy at the implied compliment, the unsaid, indirect acknowledge.

The young guest suddenly looked up and abruptly closed the album, stammering out an apology, "I-I'm very sorry. I shouldn't have been-" he looked flustered, almost as if he had been some teenage boy caught masturbating for the first time in his room.

Akihito put up a hand, "It's alright, I don't mind you looking through them. I really don't. After all, someone has to appreciate them for what they are once in a while. Rather, it's I who should be apologizing, I kept you waiting too long."

"Oh…it wasn't all that long."

"No need to be polite, I'm sure I took a good fifteen minutes." Akihito walked over to the shelf that held the glass decanter, "Would you like a drink. I only have Scotch, which isn't the beverage of preference among your peers I know, but it's all I've got."

"No, I don't mind."

"Good," Akihito turned toward him, "You _are_ old enough to drink, I hope."

"I'm twenty-two," he answered as he approached Akihito; he had noticed the awkward movement of the injured arm and the discreet effort to hide the pain and discomfort, "may I help?"

Akihito smiled wryly as a silent confession of sort to admit that yes, he probably did need some help.

"Please," he stepped aside, letting the other man take over. As this young man poured the two glasses, Akihito decided it was more or less time for the conversation to start, now rather than later when they would be seated in an awkward silence.

"It's a bit late for introductions. I've been rather rude." Akihito let on an apologetic smile, "My name is Akihito, Takaba Akihito. Yours would be..."

"Kaito." He answered as he handed a glass to Akihito, "Nakamura Kaito."

"Thank you," he said as he took the glass. "It's a nice name. How is it written?"

"Kai for ocean and To for soar."

"It suits you well."

"Thank you."

"I'm guessing you live here then, in Tokyo. Am I right?"

"Since day one," Kaito answered as he sank into the recliner.

"Are you a university student?"

"I graduated with an economics degree in March."

"Have you found a job yet?"

"I've settled on one with Seiko Investment Management already actually."

Akihito raised on eyebrow. Seiko Investment was one of the top stock and asset management companies. It was quite a feat to be hired fresh out of university. "Well, congratulations. It's nice to see successful young men."

"And you, Takaba-san? If it's not too rude to ask, what do you do?"

"Me? I'm just a plain old professor." Something about the way Akihito had said it must have indicated or resembled exhaustion, and perhaps Kaito had picked up some reluctance in the way that he talked about his occupation that kept him from asking into the details.

"Do you live here alone? I see you have another bedroom." He was making a not-so-subtle effort to change the topic of conversation and Akihito found that attempt somewhat juvenile in a sweet sort of way.

"As alone as anybody else in Tokyo, I'm afraid. That's just a guest room and I only moved here recently. My old apartment couldn't fit all the books. Well, it probably could have but then I wouldn't have had space for any other furniture."

"It sounds like your old apartment was about the size of mine during university years."

"Let me guess, cheap rent?"

"Right."

"I went through that long enough, too," he chuckled, "Though I was pretty much used it because of my father's apartment."

"Oh, you still have family?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm sure there are quite a number of very distant relatives that I don't know about, but as for those that I did know, I believe they've all moved on. My parents also passed away some number of years ago."

"I'm sorry." Had he stepped on a landmine?

"Please, people die all the time. Sooner or later, we're all ashes and dust."

"You sound as if you're in your seventies already."

"I was just thinking how I sound like an old man."

"You're still very young, aren't you?"

"_Almost_ thirty. Almost, but not quite."

"Then you're twenty-nine?"

"Effectively so. Turning thirty in May and I can't really say I'm glad or sad about it. It was bound to happen anyway."

"You look-" then he stopped. It was rude to say someone looked too young.

"I look a bit younger, which is why some of the students often take me for one of them."

"It must be frustrating."

"Well, I'm sure I'll find this tendency to be quite useful in the near future," Akihito didn't want this conversation to go to deep. In so much as he had invited this youngster home, he was certainly not about to spill his life at a stranger. He'd satisfy the young man's curiosity and leave it at that. The night was already late. "Anyway, you wanted to know why, didn't you?"

"Huh?"

Kaito seemed to have momentarily forgotten why exactly he had followed him home.

"Well… Isn't that why you came?"

"Yes... yes, it was, but now I'm not sure if that's the right question."

"Then what would be?"

"I don't know. You're not exactly…a typical person, to say the least, Takaba-san," he was choosing his words carefully. It was usually in his character to be patient. "I mean. I've never seen anybody block a blade for another person. That kind of altruism … you only see in movies nowadays. After that, you invite the very stranger whom you protected into your home at" he glanced quickly at his watch, "nearly three o'clock in the morning. On top of that, you're a professor and I'm certain it's true because I don't believe you would lie to anyone. Not in that way. You also have a living room filled with books and photograph albums."

"Is that atypical?"

"I hope I'm not being rude but…you're certainly not within the parameters of typical, so yes, I suppose so."

"Then you should be aware of the fact that you're the first stranger that has entered my home in many years. Also, I've only recently acquired my tenure position at the university. As for the books and photographs, I don't have a legitimate excuse."

"Still…Takaba-san, you're very different from most people I've met."

Akihito's face gave way to a wide grin, "I think I've taken to you quite a bit."

"P-Pardon me?" his eyes grew wide. "I- I'm sorry but I'm not-"

"Relax. I didn't mean it in that way." He was _very_ amused at this point, "All I'm saying is, I haven't met anybody quite so blunt in a long time. Straightforward…I like that. People talk and act with so much manners and etiquette that you have to dig a thousand feet of words and gestures to get to what they might be trying to say and even then you have to distinguish whether it's what they really meant or what they hoped they had meant to say. People have forgotten how to be direct, I think. Like myself, for example. I twist my words so that people don't understand me..."

"I can somewhat understand what you're saying."

"Good. Then you would also understand why you yourself are quite the eccentric, unorthodox type."

"I am?"

"Perhaps it's because you're half-Japanese. I wonder if the other half of your blood might somehow distinguish you in such a way," he put up a hand when Kaneda opened his mouth to speak, "But of course, that's nonsense. You are who you are for what you have shaped yourself to be. It wasn't an insult, the foreign reference, by the way. My best friend's wife is half-English."

"I'm sure she knew her father though."

"You've … never met him, have you?"

"He left after impregnating my mom," spite and anger nearly fell off Kaito's words, "from what I've picked up, he was an American soldier stationed here for two years."

"And you despise him for doing that to your mother?"

"Of course."

"I see." Akihito frowned, not liking where the conversation was heading, "Now then, we keep straying from the topic, don't we?"

"Huh? Oh, yes. We do."

"That's just the way conversations are..." he took a sip from the glass and looked up again, "Going back to where we were, you wanted to know why I blocked the knife, right?'"

"Right."

"Then…I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I don't have the answer to that."

"Excuse me?" he leaned forward, as if to make sure he had heard right.

"I did it out of impulse I think. The entire taxi ride, I was trying to think of why, which is why I was so silent. I must have been thinking that if that blond guy did actually stab you, it probably would have sliced a good part of your gut since he was aiming for the liver area by the way. And knife wounds are _not_ pleasant experiences if they get too severe."

"It sounds like you've experienced this."

A knowing smile traced the line between Akihito's lips.

"Are you sure you're a professor?"

"I'm quite sure. You can ask the University of Tokyo office if you'd like. Come by once in a while, they'll tell you where to go."

"But that's it? You don't know else why you did it?" Kaito seemed absolutely flabbergasted by the vague answer, if it was an answer at all.

"The thing is I probably wouldn't have gotten hit had somebody not grabbed my jacket. Things never really work out the way you planned when you most need it to."

"So besides that, you never reasoned it out for yourself or anything?"

"As I've said, I did it out of impulse. Is there anything else you'd like to ask?"

"Well no, not really…"

"I see." Akihito took a sip and looked up again, "Where do you live?"

"Pardon?" he frowned, not exactly sure how to answer the question.

"I mean... just how are you getting home at this hour?"

"Um…I'll grab a taxi…"

Akihito frowned; he didn't much like the idea of Kaito waiting outside in the freezing cold because of some personal whim. "Why don't you stay the night and leave in the morning? You can use the guest room. It'd be nice to see it occupied for the first time."

"I-I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"I have to pick up my younger brother from the airport tomorrow morning."

"Rather important prSenties, I see. Then at least let me cover your ride home. Would you allow me to do at least that?"

"I've imposed on you enough as it is, Takaba-san," Kaito was getting up now gathering his things.

"Well, it's my fault that you ended up here in the first place so I'd feel rather guilty to let you go without covering what's my responsibility." Akihito was making it sound as though he would feel terrible if Kaito didn't allow himself to be helped at this point.

"Then…"

"Wait, here, I'll call the ride." He stood up while motioning for Kaito to sit down again and headed toward the balcony where he could talk. He always had a number in his cell phone just in case. While he made the arrangements, Kaito sat back down and looked around the room, a bit confused and lost. A part of him had expected this conversation to be…different? He couldn't really come up with a good word. They hadn't much talked about what they had planned but instead had spent more time on rather unrelated topics.

Also, this stranger, Takaba-san, seemed very hospitable and rather nonchalant about the fact that he had been _stabbed_, for God's sakes, _stabbed_ just hours before. He was a professor? At Tokyo U? And how old did he say he was? Twenty-nine, right? That just blew his mind.

Akihito was talking on the phone, glancing at Kaito occasionally, "No, not there, the new apartment… I trust you know where it is … it's not an emergency or anything," his tone had changed into something more authoritative, in command, "I just need you to drive a friend of mine home... fifteen minutes sounds fine and call when you get here so I can send him down..." He hung up and turned back to Kaito, "The driver said he'd be here in fifteen minutes."

"Um, thank you."

"It's not a problem. You went out of your way to come out here anyway."

"Well, I don't know if it really was like that…" he was the one that had chased Akihito down, wasn't it?

"I just hope you'll manage through the rest of the day. It's hard to function when you don't get enough sleep."

It was true. He would probably get only about three hours of sleep before heading off to the airport... "I've gone longer without sleep before."

Akihito leaned sideways against the sliding glass door of his apartment and looked out at the cityscape, "It can get tiresome sometimes..." all those people still in the streets...

"What can?"

"I wonder. Just living, I suppose."

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Feilong pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, "Has he taken anyone in during all this time?"

"No, he hasn't. He's about as abstinent as a monk."

"In terms of…"

"In terms of lover and such, yes."

"He's not alcoholic or anything, is he? No drugs, I hope."

"Good God, no. He's got more self-control than that."

"I want to see him."

"We've gone through this enough."

"Yoh," he growled almost, dangerously.  
"He knows he'll have to see you soon anyway."

"Exactly. It has to happen sooner or later."

"Jesus, Liu...I don't know. It's really up to him."

"Where is he now?"

"Home I think."

"You think? Wait," Feilong put up a hand as if hit by some bad omen, "You don't mean to tell me that you don't keep an eye on him?"

"Of course not. He's full-fledged adult, Yoh."

"It's not about being an adult or not. He has no bodyguards?"

"You think honestly he would comply with that? The only person that could put up with him was Asami. As much as he considers me a friend, our relationship is no where on par with what he had with the other man."

"You listen to him too much."

"And you too little, I can tell already. Besides, he's got a sharp eye; he'll notice within a day."

"Perceptive?"

"You have no idea..." He had gone through his way too many times to know that Akihito was _not_ someone you messed with. Maybe before but now, he was as astute and acute as anyone else in the field. Yoh looked up at the clock and gave an exhausted sigh, "Let's call this conversation to an end. We'll continue it tomorrow. Where are you staying?"

"At the Mandarin."

"Should I have someone pick you up or..."

"No need. My men are waiting outside already anyway," he raised himself up to leave and for a moment, and Yoh _almost_ saw age creeping in. Just something about the way Feilong had triggered that thought. Was it the unexpected show of human compassion? Or perhaps…perhaps tomorrow he might give this a bit more thought … "I'm going to go see him. Just so you know."

"Liu..."

"No. I have to see him for myself."

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The driver kept on glancing back at him, giving him curious looks, making Kaito shift in the backseat uncomfortably.

_Didn't Takaba-san say he was calling a cab? Or had he just assumed that it was a cab?_

Because it wasn't. It was a damn nice car with a private chauffer that Akihito had called. Well, at very least he knew exactly where Takaba-san lived now. But would he ever come back here? Or was this a one-time meeting that the man had agreed to on a whim.

On a whim…he wondered if that was what this had all been. Just a one-night conversation that would fade into the backdrop of memories.

"Do you know Takaba-sama?" The driver finally asked.

_Takaba…sama?_ The title seemed overly formal for some professor. "Not very well, I'm afraid."

"I see," the driver returned to his silence again. But Kaito had a feeling that he might know some things about Takaba-san that hadn't been revealed.

"Do you?"

"What?"

"Do you know Takaba-san well?"

Silence. "I've been working for him for five years."

"Then you must know him well, right?"

The car pulled over and came to a stop, denying him of his chance to pry deeper, "Is this the place?"

Kaito looked out the window at his apartment building. "Yes. It is," he stepped out then peered in at the driver again before closing the door, "Give Takaba-san my regards, will you?"

A nod was his only response.

"Thanks for the ride by the way." He gave the driver a tired smile and closed the door. He didn't go in right away, watching the car drive away.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

After a long silence, Feilong stood finally and walked past Yoh. He stopped just before the door, "I'll be in Tokyo for about a week if you want to talk. You know where to find me."

"Will you go see him?"

"Maybe. We'll see what happens."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Kaito was trembling, how could this happen? How could it have happened? He pushed on the accelerator, as far as it would go, wishing it could go down farther, drive his car faster to where he desperately need to be. Where he _had_ to be. The radio remained fixed on the news, which did nothing but repeat the same facts in rearranged words.

Flight 785 crashed on landing. Crashed. Flight 785 crashed.

He kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other trembled as he fumbled around for the cell phone. Where was the goddamn cell phone? His hand patted the middle space until it settled over the small device. Fingers shaking, he held the speed dial number and stuck the phone to his ear. His other hand gripped the steering wheel. Gripped it tight, as if he might strangle it if no one answered.

"...out of service..." the record, mechanical female voice recited cheerfully what was a dreadful premonition. The phone would be off naturally during the trip. But why wasn't he calling?

Kaito could see the airport from the distance and his heart beat even faster. Was that even possible? He could feel it, alive, trembling in trepidation and terror. Fear and anxiety clutched at his gut and twisted them almost painfully. The news from the radio still told nothing in detail of the situation, nothing on the degree of severity, what of survivors.

He pulled drove into the parking lot, waiting impatiently for the gate arm to rise after pulling out a ticket. He wanted to drive through it. Forget his car, forget everything.

_... please... please be alright..._

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito woke to the sound of his cell phone ringing beside the nightstand, grinding into the wood as it vibrated against the surface. Half-awake, he reached for it and stared at the screen. Yoh... he frowned as he flipped the phone open and sat up in the bed.

"Yoh?"

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah...what's up?"

"I'm heading to your place right now, can you be ready in ten minutes?" Yoh sounded serious; his voice was tight and tense, and Akihito knew immediately that something had happened.

"Yeah. What's this about?"

"I'll explain it face to face, ten minutes, Akihito." The connection cut off.

Akihito stood and headed into the bathroom. It took him about two minutes total to shave and brush his teeth. In the closet, he picked out a pair of black slacks with its matching blazer, along with a dark grey dress shirt and black tie. On top of the dress shirt, he slid into the shoulder holsters and grabbed a black overcoat that came down to about his knees. He couldn't put that on just yet.

Heading over to the bed, he reached under the pillow and pulled out the handgun, popped out the magazine, checked it then slid it back it. It slipped easily into its usual place, under his left arm. He put on the blazer, mostly to conceal the weapon, and then the overcoat, which he would eventually have to slip off if he went indoors.

On his way out, he slipped into his cell phone along with his keys in the inside pocket. He had gotten used to getting emergency calls. When he did get such notices, he dressed up somewhat formally, more to make impressions than anything else, for such occasions because appearances were everything. Almost.

Just as he was heading out of the lobby into the dark, for the sun rose late in winter, he recognized three black cars pulling up. Perfect timing. How typical of Yoh. One of the bodyguard came out and ushered him into the second car.

"I'm glad you could make it." Yoh said finally when the car drove out again into the streets, pushing them lightly at first into the leather seats.

Akihito nodded wordlessly.

Seeing that he was in no mood for a true conversation, Yoh began the usual briefing. "About half an hour ago, Flight 785 crashed while landing at the Narita International Airport." He glanced at Akihito then continued, "The plane was carrying concealed arms from Okinawa, which is-"

"The middleman location, I know."

"We don't know at this point what the situation is, but ammunition was part of the cargo, as to whether they were damaged or caused further damage, the authorities haven't disclosed anything. However, what is left of the crash, we need to salvage."

"Do they know about it?"

"They were bribed a long time ago as part of an exchange, a safe-passage agreement."

"Then..."

"What we're trying to avoid is collateral damage. Every trace _must_ be collected from the site, removed before other branch authorities start treading into marked territory."

Akihito closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose, "So what's my role in this?"

"Your presence. You are well aware how much leverage it grants and how much influence you hold, Akihito. You're more than aware of it."

Of course he was. The airport chief of security, Iwamoto-san, had been a close associate of Asami; it was critical for the group to have safe-passage through the main international airport. Strangely enough, he was one of the few that had remained truly loyal to the deceased man. He was one of the few that Akihito trusted and vice versa.

"I doubt he would ask much of you today, but even so, it's better if you handle the situation, Akihito. He trusts you."

"He trusts you as well."

"Not in the same way."

"I know. I'll take care of this."

He sighed, being involved in the underworld really wore out a person. Especially now, for Akihito was beginning to have a creeping suspicion that...the crash hadn't been an accident. A scandal couldn't bring a group down, but it had the capability of weakening one in more than just one way. If something like this were to be uncovered, the supplier would at the very least temporarily suspend business for safety. Other known associates will begin to keep their distance and the police may begin pouncing on the group, sometimes because of mass pressure.

Had anyone known that the cargo was due to arrive, it would be an opportunity to ignite such a scandal. "Yoh," Akihito turned finally to face the man, "I don't know the extent to which I can trust my instincts, but I don't believe the crash was an accident. I refuse to believe it. The chances of a plane crash isn't exactly all that high, even during landings. I suppose there are factors like the weather, but... it seems too convenient for certain people that this particular plane crash..."

"I've considered that as well."

He shook his head at the response, "No, I'm not talking about looking at the possible causes or anything. I'm not talking about analysis. I'm talking about gut feeling. This probably wasn't an accident."

"Any idea who then? Which group?"

"Not yet, but I'll look into it," he returned to looking out the window again, "whoever did it...their apathy toward collateral damage pisses me off."

Yoh understood then, why Akihito seemed angered. He didn't show that emotion so much outwardly than inwardly. To Akihito, the fact that the passengers of the flight had become involved in some petty turf war between two groups was unacceptable.

Ahead, the airport came into view.

"Yoh, once you drop me off, leave the airport."

"Akihito..."

"I mean it," his expression was serious and grave, "let's not take any chances. That's the biggest favor you can do for me right now. Will you do that, Yoh?"

He nodded silently in reply. Akihito was right, it was reasonable that he should want Yoh far from the airport vicinity.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"What the fuck are you saying?!" Kaito wanted to punch this guy and clock him in the chin. He could, probably, but that wouldn't help his predicament any.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the area has been closed off for now, unauthorized personnel will not be allowed under _any_ circumstances."

"My brother was on that flight," he rummaged through his pocket for a copy of the flight information, "Look at this, Nakamura Hyouta." He pointed to a name on the wrinkled paper, creases running down where it had been folded before. "I'm Nakamura Kaito. This is my family we're talking about, don't fucking tell me that I can't enter the area."

"I'm sorry sir. No exceptions."

"Then at least tell me if he's alright? How come we're hearing nothing of survivors yet. It's been half an hour and there's _nothing_!"

"I'm afraid I can't help you." The man didn't seem to give a damn about all this.

Kaito bit his bottom lip in frustration. He wouldn't give up yet; he had to get to his brother, no matter how much arguing and verbal conflict it took.

"Look..."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Takaba-san," the man shook hands, his grip firm and strong, exuding confidence and rank, "I'm glad you made it."

"I hope I haven't caused too much trouble, Iwamoto-san," Akihito replied. The security chief had met him in the parking lot, shortly after Yoh dropped Akihito off. "How is the situation?"

"Most of the luggage suffered only minor damage, but they are being moved out already. It looks like it will not be such a difficult one to manage since we have all of the cargo extracted from the scene and stored separately."

"Then that issue has been well dealt with."

"Yes, I would say the problem is that we don't know who is behind the crash."

Akihito's stomach dropped, "So it's almost certain that this wasn't an accident."

Iwamoto-san snorted, "It's far too early to make any statements, but there's been evidence of tampering though we're not sure yet. We've been too busy trying to tend to the passengers at this point."

"How are they?"

"One of the pilots died almost immediately. Twelve passenger deaths, seven critically injured, twenty eight moderately injured, the rest came out more or less in good condition."

Akihito swallowed. Why did he feel so guilty about this? Why _should_ he feel guilty about this?

"Anything else I should know about before heading down to the site?"

"I don't think so. There's really not much to see."

"I see."

Iwamoto led Akihito toward the security checkpoint where a large mass of reporters had gathered along with relatives, all waiting anxiously for any news.

"The guards know you already, just pass through the checkpoint through the side and head toward Gate 14, I'll handle the reporters. I'll follow after a little while."

He nodded. Honestly, he was glad to; nobody liked reporters swarming around them, cameras and microphones shoved into the victim's face. He didn't believe in that kind of journalism anyway. It was necessary but simply not his style. Though he had long left the field, Akihito still believed in discreet journalism, the kind that made no sound but spoke volumes.

Once the reporters had more or less surround Iwamoto, Akihito slipped inside, heading toward the checkpoint like any other passenger. One of the guards sprinted to him, and Akihito recognized him.

"Good morning, sir."

"And to you, Saikawa-san."

The man seemed almost proud that his name had been remembered among the hundreds of airport security personnel. But of course, Akihito had trained himself to memorize faces and names; it was immensely useful.

"It's an honor to have your presence here, sir." He said as he bowed; he had a clipboard tucked under his arm.

Akihito hated flattery, "I suppose. Anything I should be notified-" his words stopped there and so did his steps. There was a man at the checkpoint, making an uproar, an unprecedented commotion. "Who is that man?"

"He claims to be a relative of one of the passengers of the crashed flight," Saikawa-san mumbled, "he's been making turmoil since he arrived, demanding to be let in."

"The relatives aren't allowed to contact the passengers?"

"If the passenger so choose to, yes, but..."

"But?"

"If the passenger isn't able to, then we cannot authorize any sort of access."

Akihito frowned. This wasn't the way it should be though he could see why. There were reporters and journalists that sometimes snuck in claiming to be affiliated, related, etc. etc. He knew the ins and outs of such methods too well, but even though he could only see the man's back at this point, he hardly seemed to be lying on such terms.

"Then at least tell me if he's alright!"

Akihito made his way forward with Saikawa at his heels, "Sir... I don't know if that's..." the guard was hesitating and Akihito gave him a look that silenced him at once.

"What's the problem here?" he asked once he was within a close distance. The guard that had been arguing with the young man immediately became silent and stiffened.

"S-sir," he bowed, looking as though he had been caught red-handed in the midst of a crime.

"Please, formality isn't necessary. At least not today."

At this point, the young man turned, opened his mouth his speak but no words came out.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

_What the..._

Kaito froze. The security guard had suddenly stopped in the midst of the argument, went cold and stiff at the sight of something, or someone, behind him.

"...least not today..."

Kaito turned, ready to spill another argument to get to his brother. It was...it was Takaba-san. There was no doubt about it despite the change in the man's appearance. He was dressed as though he owned the entire airport, neat and sharp, and by the way the guards acted around him, Kaito caught on immediately that Takaba-san was no ordinary "professor." In fact...he probably wasn't an ordinary man at all.

"How can I help you, young man?" he acted as though they had never met before, as though, just hours ago, they hadn't shared a private, rather personal, conversation. Like they were total strangers. Kaito _almost_ felt betrayed...he had had, deep inside, some hope that they might have been friends, or failing that, at least acquaintances. But here was Takaba-san, intimidating had it not been for a previous encounter, for the guards appeared intimidated, taking cautious steps and speaking cautious words around him.

"I...I have to find my brother." Well...if Takaba-san didn't want to acknowledge anything...he would just have to play along.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

_Good God..._

Akihito's expression changed, "Your brother? Was he on the flight?" He had to act like strangers. He had to. For Kaito.

"Yes. He was."

Before, the incident had angered Akihito; if that was then, now it infuriated him. It had turned personal somehow. _Personal? Why is this personal?_ "I see." He turned away from Kaito and spoke quietly to Saikawa, "Do you have the list of survivors?"

"Right here, sir." He handed Akihito the clipboard he had been holding.

"I don't need it." he said as he held up a hand, "Give it to the man there. If his brother is in with the other evacuated passengers, take him there. Should his brother be at the hospital, then I want transportation arranged so that he will get there. If his..."

_Asami, stay with me!_

"If his brother is deceased..." Fear gripped Akihito. What if the brother was one of the fatalities?

_You can't help me…_

"In that case..." How would he come to terms with that?

_Don't say these things! _

"Take him to where the bodies are." He didn't know, really, if this was the way it should be done.

_Goddammit! Asami, I will help you!_

"Make sure of it. Is that clear?" Akihito recomposed himself.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'm counting on you." He left Saikawa standing there, dumbfounded, as he walked past the security checkpoint. Had he done the right thing, helping Kaito in that way? These past few hours, he had been irrational. Disconnected with logic and sense, he felt. Where had his voice of rationality gone, the voice that had spoken so loudly and drowned out everything else for the past five years?

It had to be partly because of his conversation with Yoh, with Feilong's sudden demand. Then the odd incident after that, not to mention the rather eccentric conversation which followed. He was losing himself. No, that wasn't it. He was losing _to_ himself. Akihito shook the thought away and stopped a good distance away from the checkpoint. Iwamoto was just now passing through it, having had to evade the swarm of reporters.

When the man caught up, they began walking again.

"I'm sorry you had go through that. Those reporters can be a menace."

"They can, but they're harmless type."

"Indeed they are..." Akihito's lip turned up at the edges. The dangerous type...those were the quiet ones...the kind that he had once been. As if the man had read his mind, Iwamoto glanced at Akihito and grinned.

"Bringing back memories?"

"You have no idea..." he responded. The man, in reality, probably _did_ have some idea of what he used to do though no one would really know. If they did, he probably would have been targeted a long, long time ago. "But enough of that, where are we going right now?"

"There's a few things I wanted to show you."

"Is this completely off the record?"

"Yes, off the record."

There were things that Akihito kept from even Yoh. Such as the kind of correspondence that Iwamoto and Akihito maintained.

Akihito knew that Yoh sometimes excluded him from the business, not because he didn't trust him but because the man somehow felt obligated to distance his former boss's lover from the dangerous deals. It was part of the loyalty he had to the dead man and Akihito appreciated him for it. What he did in return though might have as well laid waste to Yoh's efforts.

Akihito kept a close eye on most of the happenings that might have slipped Yoh's attention, particularly the ones that he knew had even the slightest potential of escalating into something bigger. Hence, without Yoh's knowledge, he went about quietly, discreetly, silently, brokering minor handshakes, distributing small threats, just enough to keep tabs on things.

He was able to do this through direct relations with three men. This trio from which he received support was an odd combination of people. One of them was a surgeon and doctor but one with hands on the top pharmaceutical companies. Another was one of the executive officers at a law firm. The third was a quiet businessman with European investments that raked him millions, but millions in foreign currency.

It had been a part of the will that had been undisclosed to Yoh, passed on through a lawyer that Asami kept off the record. These three men had helped Asami and in returned received help from Asami long ago. Long before Asami even began rising to power. Perhaps they had seen potential in Asami and had decided to risk it. Helping a man in power was easy to do. It was even easier to help one rising to power. But to give a hand to a no-name...that was unheard of, and for that reason, Asami kept in touch, a mutual relationship.

In the private will, Asami only mentioned these names and their contact information. Directions couldn't have been vaguer. Akihito contacted them and found out that Asami had left them the other parts of the will. He would have all the support they could give within their limits.

Hence, while Yoh watched Akihito's back, Akihito was doing the same. Somewhere along the way, Iwamoto had gotten involved in one of these about three years ago. He had said to Akihito that he would have helped long ago had he known that Akihito was "in business" he called it.

"How are things going, Takaba-san?"

"There's been too much murmur lately," Akihito answered as they rounded the corner and passed s "AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" sign, the first of many to come. "Murmur" was what Akihito called underground noise, rumors, speculations, suspicions that reached people through ears only; murmur was never a good thing. It meant something was about to explode. He just couldn't figure out _what_.

"So I'm not the only one that thinks so."

"What have you picked up on?"

"Not good. A lot of things around Yoh. The man should brace himself, he's got something coming his way." He swiped his card through another door.

"Anything specific?"

"I don't know if its true but apparently, some group has gotten financial backing from a major investment company."  
"Turf war business?"

"I doubt it. You've kept a good lid on that." It was true. Akihito did eliminate even the smallest whispers of opposition if it proved to be true though never otherwise.

"Then what?"

"Russian stuff." Now _that_ was bad news.

"Where did you hear this?"

"Nothing reliable. I don't know the source, the rumor was passed down several hands."

"Couldn't trace it?"

"It was impossible. Like a game of telephone or something."

"It could be...Yoh has a casino and a hotel coming up. Could it have something to do with that?"

This time a keypad entrance; he held the door open for Akihito then passed through himself, "Possibly. Who knows?"

Iwamoto finally led them into a small conference room where there was a man in what appeared to be an airline uniform. He looked disheveled and tired.

"This is Honda-san, one of the pilots of the plane that crashed. Honda-san, this is Takaba-san, I believe he may be able to help us."

The pilot stood and shook Akihito's hand, "A pleasure to meet you."

"The same."

The three sat around the oval table as Iwamoto passed Akihito some files and photographs of the crash, which were hard to distinguish except for some flames and shadows since the morning was still dark.

"Could you tell Takaba-san the same thing you told me, Honda-san?"

"Of course," the pilot nodded and licked his dry, cracked lips. "Where should I start? Right then...before the landing, we took the plane off auto-pilot cruise, and there was a short interference during the cross-over from automatic to manual. We didn't think much off it. When we approached the runway from the air, however, it was as if the entire system went berserk, and transmission from the control tower became almost incomprehensible from static. Or rather, should I say that the system was running on a different course altogether, as though it were pre-programmed to...to crash. The other pilot, he...he used to..." the pilot buried his face in his hands, "he had some programming background and managed to revert it back to manual before it went nose-first into the ground. I don't...I don't know how it happened. I have no idea...none at all."

Takaba could see the distress in the man's face. The man was distraught. Completely.

"I've never...Takaba-san. I don't know what to do..."

Akihito glanced at Iwamoto, who began speaking, "The investigation will probably think that the error was the pilot's because we probably won't be able to prove the interference. We're hoping that the black box will provide some clues to that, but..."

He saw the predicament now. This was Iwamoto asking a favor of him, to help the pilot, who would probably end up being held accountable. And of course, Akihito knew it was his obligation because had there not been smuggled arms on the plane, this would not have happened.

"Alright then." Akihito nodded, "I want all investigation held off. The government's team will _not_, I repeat, will _not _enter the crash site at any moment. The investigation must be held by another organization because whatever is behind this, I'm sure they've covered their trails with some payoffs to the government."

The pilot's face turned white.

"I will not lie to you. I don't know how much help I will be, but I'll do my best."

He nodded.

"If you're worried about prison time...that will be taken care of. I'm make sure of it."

"Thank you."

Akihito felt fake then, hypocritical. He shouldn't be thanked for this, if anything, he should be asking for pardon on the pilot's part...that was what he should have been doing. He could only manage a smile, unable to reply.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Is your brother's name on the list, sir?"

Kaito scanned the list, it wasn't in any order, which made it difficult to find his brother's name, almost as though it were postponing the worst. He went from column to column until..._there._

He sighed in relief, "Yes...it is..."

"As one of the evacuees, sir?"

"Yes."

"Then follow me." He did, wishing that the guard would walk faster. For the second time, Takaba-san had helped him out. Moreover, he didn't understand it. Why? Just why exactly? Did he have some second motive, hidden intentions? He doubted it. Takaba-san just didn't seem that way? Beside, what did he have to gain from this?

"You first, sir." The guard held the door open for him.

"Thank you."

He nodded, closing the door behind him. They had to climb down two flights of stairs before coming out again, then led down a hallway then into a large, lounge-like waiting area. The passengers were resting, the ones with minors injuries being tended to by medics. Too many people, too many faces.

"Kaito!" he whipped around to see his brother coming at him, jumping over luggage and sleeping people, "Kaito!"

He embraced his brother, relief washing over him like a flood, "You're alright. You're alright." He kept saying, over and over again, "You're alright."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito watched the car pull up towards him and come to a stop. When he got inside the car, he let out a long sigh.

Yoh looked at him with raised eyebrows, "You look rather tired."

"Well, I am," he leaned his elbow on the arm rest, his head tilted sideways, "I'll probably go home and crash before I get started on anything else."

"Didn't get much sleep?"

He shook his head, his eyes closed.

"Rest, I'll wake you when we arrive." Yoh didn't question Akihito as to what he discussed with Iwamoto-san in the airport. Akihito would have mentioned it as soon as he got in if he wanted Yoh to know.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito woke abruptly as soon as he felt a light touch on his shoulders, eyes snapping wide open, and he grabbed the wrist of the hand that had touched him. His pupils were wide, dazed yet sharp, alert like a prey desperate for escape, or a predator prepared to pounce, Yoh couldn't really tell which was better suited to describe the split second moment of calculated panic he had seen. It took Akihito a moment to process the situation, and when realization finally dawned on him, he quickly let go of Yoh's wrist, as though it were burning the palm of his hand, "I-I just..." he stammered, "Sorry..."

Yoh rubbed his wrist gently and smiled, "Nothing to worry about," he said. But it was, he thought, this hyper-alertness that displayed a fear of vulnerability during sleep.

Akihito opened the car door and had one foot out on the concrete when Yoh added, "I'll contact you sometime during the week." Akihito responded with a nod and stepped out completely. Just before he closed the door, Yoh added, "You're too tired!"

Akihito only gave a backward wave, more like a short salute, and slipped through the automatic door into the apartment lobby and then elevator. Inside the elevator, he leaned back on the mirrored walls, watching the number rise in red, blocked letters then once again let his eyelids fall. His hands were shaking in his pockets; he could feel the soft, inner lining rubbing lightly against his fingers. That abrupt reaction he had had...frightened him. Since when was he so tense, he wondered and frowned slightly, unable to remember. He forced himself to breath and finally calmed his fingers to rest.

The elevator stopped, its doors sliding open. Akihito felt as though he were nearly forcing his steps to carry him on down the hall and to the door, where he fumbled with his keys before managing getting it through the hole. He entered his apartment in a daze as he slipped off his shoes and methodically, slowly peeled off the layers of clothes. He had every intention of going back to sleep.

His overcoat and blazer found their way on the back of the living room recliner, his tie and holster landed on the coffee table. After that, he threw away the idea of dressing into something a bit more comfortable and fell onto the couch, which was obviously too small to accommodate him comfortably, but he didn't care. He was too fast asleep to notice that not long after, one arm was hanging off and one leg tossed over the armrest at the edge.

He didn't realize it, he wasn't awake to, but perhaps for the first time in five years, he slept without the clutter of thoughts that usually occupied his jaded subconscious state.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Kaito waited in the hospital lobby; he had a pen held between his fingers and was twirling it nonstop, madly even, a nervous habit he had acquired during high school while studying for exams. The airport security had advised him to visit the hospital and do a checkup on his younger brother just in case, and he had agreed though Hyouta seemed a bit reluctant. Hyouta emerged finally, buttoning his shirt up, with a tired but smiling face. All the tests had taken about two hours.

"The doctor said he wanted to talk to you." He said when he finally got near enough.

"Is something wrong?"

His younger brother shrugged, "I don't know."

"Alright. Stay here, I'll be back."

The doctor's office was impeccably clean and organized; he shook hands with Kaito, introducing himself as Yagawa-san, then asked him to take a seat in a stool across from him.

"Is everything alright with Hyouta?"

"Yes, yes." The doctor said as he glanced up from his clipboard, "Good thing there was a request to get the results ASAP or else you would have had to come back in next week."

Kaito's eyebrows bunched together in a mild frown, "A request?"

"Yes," he looked up, "You were not aware?"

"From who?"

"The office didn't specify."

"Oh...well...never mind." His mind suddenly conjured up Takaba's form, the way he wielded sublime intimidation at the airport checkpoint.

The doctor raised his eyebrows then began speaking again, "Right then. Looking at the results, I would say everything appears to be normal except for-"

"Except?"

The doctor smiled wryly then continued, "except for the ECG results."

"ECG?" There was a good reason Kaito hadn't chosen medical school even though his grades could have gotten him in perfectly fine...all these strange terminology...this...exotic jargon the doctors used.

"ECG is short for Electrocardiogram, it records the heart's electrical activity."

"Oh...okay. And?"

"There were some minor anomalies but I believe it's due to the fact that he's a bit shaken up at this point from...the plane crash, correct?"

The reply came in a whisper, "Yes."

"Well, then. That's all."

"That's all?"

"Yes. It was nice working with your brother." The doctor stood and stretched out his hand, which Kaito took and shook.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

When Kaito reached the lobby again, Hyouta was sleeping awkwardly on the plastic chair, his head leaning against the white wall behind him, his arms folded across his chest. For the first time, Kaito had a chance to take a good look at the brother; they had lived the last eight years apart, since Kaito had started attending high school in Tokyo. Just as he was finishing middle school, his step-father, Hyouta's father, had decided to move to Okinawa, a move that would have been academic suicide for Kaito, who had just passed the entrance exam to a prestigious high school.

He opted to stay in Tokyo, staying the first two years at a friend's home then moving out his last year of high school to a small boarding-house type of apartment. His brother, on the other hand, was twelve at the time and had had to move.

When his step-father ditched the family to elope with some neighborhood wife several years ago, it left Hyouta and their mother living by thread of financial support from the mother's family and haphazardly chosen part-time jobs, whatever she could get her hands on.

At the same time, Kaito had understood the implications of moving away. His step-father had resented him, a son who did not share his blood, the result of an illicit affair with some gutter-trash foreign soldier his wife had had. He had known that this unworthy son would choose to stay in Tokyo; it was a way to keep him out of the house.

For this very reason, Kaito never once went down to visit his family save for occasional mails he sent to Hyouta, which were never answered. Later he found out that his mails had never reached his younger brother, for reasons not so difficult to guess.

Just when Hyouta was about to come back to Tokyo to attend University, their mother fell ill and took to bed. She was an outcast of her family, having two bastard sons, which left Hyouta to care for her. Kaito had insisted in switching places; he was almost done with university by then, but his younger brother refused. He would rather postpone University, he had said over the phone.

Kaito could remember hanging up as fast as he could with a quick good-bye, all the while trying to hide back that lump in his throat...that disgusting urge to cry. When he hung up, he dry-sobbed, without tears, in something akin to regret.

Now that he thought about it once more, Hyouta must have known that their mother did not have much to live. She was already well into the middle stages of liver cancer (their mother had taken to heavy drinking), which meant certain death and gave her less than a year to live. She died in the hospital, too drugged with morphine to even recognize her son's face, in delirium as most patients in the ICU unit were.

Hyouta conducted the funeral with their mother's family; Kaito did not show no matter how many times Hyouta insisted. His existence would bring shame to their mother. Now Kaito saw the toll those years had taken on his brother.

He seemed altogether too mature for an eighteen-year-old though his face still indicated his young age. Sometimes, Kaito was convinced that his stepfather had had foreign blood because otherwise, some of the traits in Hyouta were inexplicable such as the deep set eyes with an oddly light brown color with tints of hazel and green. It was like a mismatched puzzle. The pitch-black hair, the slight tan of his skin, light brown eyes.

The bridge of his nose was delicate, his cheeks did not settle high, and his eyes were deep-set and cast an odd shadow across his face.

Kaito hesitated to wake him but placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Hyouta, let's go home."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito woke to the sound of knocking on his door. He pushed himself up from the couch and managed to groan out, "Just a second." He glanced at the balcony, out the sliding glass, and saw that it was starting to get dark. He looked up at the clock hung on the wall and realized that he had slept half the day away.

He tripped his way across the living room and arrived at the door. He opened it halfway, leaning on the wall to keep his balance. In his sleepy daze, it took him longer than it should have to recognize the face before him.

"Um..." he rubbed his forward, as if he were trying to recall a name, "Yoh... what brings you here?"

"We need to talk." Yoh said as he stepped inside, inviting himself in as always. Akihito said nothing but noted that, for some reason, Yoh seemed a bit...irritated.

"Talk?"

"You didn't answer your phone."

Akihito frowned as he closed the door, "I what?"

"You didn't pick up the phone, Akihito."

"When? How many times?"

"Just now. Three times," he said matter-of-factly, tossing his coat over Akihito's.

"And I didn't pick up?"

"Not once."

"Sorry, I was sleeping."

"That's what I figured," Yoh eyed the coat hung over the recliner and the holster on the table, "You seemed tired."

Akihito nodded, "so what's this about?"

He shook his head as he took off his coat and sat down, "We need to talk because Iwamoto-san called."

"From the airport?"

"Yes... he couldn't contact you so he called me instead." Yoh saw that Akihito was still standing, "Take a seat. We might be here for a while."

Akihito did, getting more concerned by the minutes. "Wait...what happened?"

There was a long silence before Yoh answered, "The airplane pilot is dead. Killed, actually."

"Fuck!" Akihito might as well have remained standing because he stood back up abruptly again. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, eyes closed shut as he paced slowly, trying to calm himself, "How?"

Silence.

"Yoh, tell me. How?"

"He was sniped in front of a hotel as he got out of the car."

"No..."

"What I would like, Akihito, is an explanation. Why should you, of all people, have anything to do with this pilot?"

"I had agreed to help him. Just this morning."

"Your motive being?"

"No motives. I just knew he was going to get slammed for crashing the plane."

"Did he do it?"

"Of course not. Somebody manipulated the program beforehand. That's what the pilot said and I believe him."

"What are you saying exactly?"

"I'm saying that the plane crash wasn't a fucking accident!"

Akihito's eyes met Yoh's, which stared back with equal intensity.

"Who was it?"

"Jesus, Yoh, I have no fucking idea..." he plopped into the sofa this time, one elbow on the arm rest, his hand on his forehead, "I just can't believe they finished him off so fast. Whoever they are, they're more than serious about this. We may have secured the weapons from the site but...that certainly wasn't their only objective. Crashing a plane takes a lot of planning. Whatever it was, they've been on this for a hell of long time, Yoh, and it's been set into motion."

"Their first domino then."

"Exactly. But what we don't know is the picture itself. We've only seen them knock over the first domino, the plane crash, and one follow-up, the pilot's assassination. As to the rest, we can't even _begin_ to predict."

"You really have no idea."

"None what so ever."

"The Russians perhaps?"

"Mikhail? I don't know. He's certainly capable of it. He's got no sense of ethics or morals." He stopped, as if in thought then said, "Let me rephrase that. He has his _own_ sense of morals. Moreover, he has the resources to pull it off. Hijacking is one thing, reprogramming a piloting system, that's another. It takes some pretty smart pawns."

"But how many strings Mikhail can pull from Moscow? Also, almost every Japanese group resents the man."

"Verona," Akihito corrected.  
"What?"

"He's in Verona, Italy."

Yoh looked up suddenly, "Italy?"

"That's right."

Now he was rubbing his temples together, "This is..."

"Not one bit surprising." Akihito finished off the trailing sentence, "there's been too much words flying around lately, rumors, speculations, you name it. They don't have to be true or anything; all they're really useful for is judging the brewing activity and let me tell you, there's been a hell of a lot of talk."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"...If it has anything to do with the Russians..." he pulled himself up and headed toward the bookshelf where there were a pack of cigarettes, still almost full, and a lighter. "Ask Feilong. He would know better I think." He pulled took the lighter and the pack and headed for the balcony. As soon as the glass door slid open, he felt immediately the blast of cold air. It was almost an effort to keep the lighter going long enough to light the cigarette.

Yoh followed him, leaning out against the railing, "When did you start?"

"Hm...I don't remember. A long time ago, I guess." A trail of smoke whipped around his serene yet troubled face as he drew out a long breath. It wasn't after a long moment of silence between them that he added, "I hate it."

"Smoking?"

A nod, "Yeah. I hate the smell of it, I hate the feel of it, I hate the way it scratches down my throat and brushes against the inside of my lungs. In fact, I feel like a twisted masochist when I smoke..."

"I guess it would be pointless to ask why, then." Yoh had recognized the smell instantly.

"Yes...it would be..."

The aroma. It was undeniable.

But so was the way Akihito held the cigarette between his fingers, the way it approached his lips, the way he inhaled the grey air then let it out, smoke seeping softly from the crack between his lips.

All of it.

All undeniable. And familiar no doubt.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Verona, Italy

"Na Huy...?" Yuri looked up at Mikhail in disbelief. _Why the fuck?_

"A huy li?" His smirk was self-evident as was his response, _Why the fuck not?_

"He'll kill you." Thwat! "For sure." The dart missed just off center, and Yuri clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. "Damn," he whispered softly.

There was a soft chuckle as Mikhail replied, "He will try, I'm sure. Whether he succeeds or not... that's a different question altogether." He poured a glass of cognac and held it out to Yuri.

Thwat! "Tch," again, the dart had just barely shied away from the bull's eye. "But considering how he has no personal relationships with anyone, that's a bit difficult, isn't it?" Yuri asked as he took the glass that Mikhail offered.

"When did I ever say I was going after a hypothetical lover, which, as you said already, does not exist?"

Yuri looked into the glass, silently, "You're not implying that..." he looked into Mikhail's eyes and realized that the Russian mafia boss was completely serious about his intentions. "Well, if that's the case then you realize that Yoh's...mistress or wife or whatever she happens to be is pregnant."

"You're jumping to conclusions about what I'm planning to do," a malicious glimmer ignited in Mikhail's eyes. "Remember, this is just overdue retribution. I haven't forgotten," bitterness oozed from his voice, "that the organization lost nearly half a billion Euros because of them. And I haven't forgotten...that my ties with Hong Kong have been broken because of Asami. The man marred the Arbatov name."

"Because of Asami, you say. The man is dead. You killed him, after all."

"Correction. I never killed him directly. I did it through careful manipulation, and now I'm starting to realize that I should have at least dealt with Takaba as well."

"Takaba? The dead man's lover?" Yuri smirked, "I didn't know you were one to get personal."

"You're quite mistaken there. That statement had little to do with personal issues, Yuri." He waved around the cigarette in his other hand, leaving a dancing trail of wispy smoke, "Had Takaba stayed out of my business these past couple years, I could have cared less, but he's been quite the nuisance and it's only getting worse lately. The worst part is, I don't believe he realizes who he's been messing with."

"So what? Now you're planning on kidnapping Yoh's wife and demanding some kind of ransom?"

Yuri almost wished he hadn't asked after he heard Mikhail's answer, which were whispered between smiling lips, smiling but cruel lips, "You assume that I would automatically go for Yoh and his mistress. Despite the fact that he was the one that secured the Macau deed seven years ago, I have no true grudge against him. He was, after all, working under orders. It's Takaba that I'm rather irritated about. That man has none of the hierarchical constraints that everyone else does. He and his associates...they've been...rather busy lately..."

"Jesus..."

"Are you surprised?"

"Of course I am. This is...reckless and ridiculous. Besides, who is your dispatch?

"Who would be most reliable?"

"Reliable in terms of skill or reliable in terms of loyalty? They're two very different things.."

"Skill, of course. Loyalty can be bought just so long as you're the highest bidder."

"I don't know then; there's a whole list of possibilities."

"True, but which one, I ask, is the best of them all?" the playful tone in Mikhail's voice brought a shiver down Yuri's spine.

"I pray from the bottom of my corrupted soul that you've not hired Sergei Andreyev again. He's proven himself skill time and time again but he can not be trusted. That man...he's got motives of his own."

"Well, your soul must be pretty fucked because yes, I did hire Sergei."

"If I were any other person I would not say this, but Mikhail, you are making a grave mistake relying on that man."

Mikhail laughed, throwing his head back, "I appreciate your sense of humor, Yuri. I really do. Besides, so what if I am?"

"I only say that because he is possibly the one man whose loyalty is _not_ guaranteed by currency."

"Is that what you believe?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid I've already bought him over."

He glanced up at Mikahil. Should he ask this? Did he want to know? "Was the plane crash part of this? Was _he_ the one who did it?"

"Of course it was. I paid him to do it. There's no one else technically savvy enough to pull off something like that, after all."

"This is terrorism, Mikhail. The crash killed at least a dozen passengers."

"Does it matter? After all, nothing, I repeat, _nothing_ will trace back to us."

Yuri stood, quietly, then whispered, "I think I'll retire for the night."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Seoul, Korea

Nikolai Horowitz leaned back against the railings of the bridge, his back to the river some fifty meters below, and faced the traffic that went to and fro either side of the bridge. He wasn't all too pleased with the rendezvous being in the middle of a bridge with cars zooming past him at rather uncomfortable speeds but he had had worse before and didn't see the point in changing it.

He pulled the sleeve of his coat up and read the time on his watch then resumed to looking at absolutely nothing. He didn't have much more to wait because his "colleague" should be arriving just about...

_Now._ A black Ferrari Enzo came to a halting stop just in front of him.

Nikolai smirked when the car door popped open, inviting him in. He kept the expression on his face as he took his place on the passengers and pulled the seat belt across his torso.

"Right on time."

The driver, the upper part of his face shadowed, grinned in response, knowingly, at Nikolai's remark and pressed down on the accelerator, thrusting them both deep and hard into the leather seats. Nikolai grimaced but at the same time, knew that Sergei was doing it for the sole purpose of getting on his nerves.

"I was under the impression that you were going to get the Maserati MC12."

"Too wide." He was also a man of very few words.

"I see," the car whipped into an underground parking lot entrance and stopped abruptly, almost knocking the breath out of Nikolai, "Was that in any way necessary?"

"My apologies," he responded, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

"Right..." Nikolai answered skeptically, "Right you are..."

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Mikhail couldn't help but be a little bit surprised at Yuri's reaction. He had thought that uri was just about as sentimental as a block of ice. Perhaps then the ice was melting a bit now. There had been a time, of course, when Yuri had been more...human, for lack of a better word. It was rather ironic, now that Mikhail thought about it, the conditions and reasons under which Yuri had joined the Russian mafia some fourteen, perhaps fifteen, years ago.

As a desperate last bet at love.

Vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Svetlana Arbatov, as she was known back then, was a rather rebellious young woman. The way Mikhail saw it, she was too independent and sharp for her own good anyway. What sealed her fate as an Arbatov was one very, extremely stupid set of actions.

Two years into her university education at the University of St. Petersburg, she came home and announced that she was getting married to some unknown bachelor. She refused to reveal his identity. Arbatov, Sr., their father, took his cane and belt and proceeded to beating her until she fell unconscious. It was Yuri who discovered the scene and managed to hold the boss back and take the daughter, the object of his love and passion, to the emergency room where the doctors, much to their surprise (and shock), that she was bleeding from between her legs. It turned out, she was six-weeks pregnant and had probably passed it off as an irregular period or such.

They had no choice but to abort the child, considering it would endanger the mother's life otherwise. Yuri was distraught; he had, of course, still not been noticed by Svetlana. He kept the abortion a secret from everyone including Svetlana. He never told a soul and even had the hospital record erased. Mikhail then had been away and for that matter, he was still only the successor in-waiting.

The boss, it seemed, was not in the least bit repentant and had no intention what so ever of forgiving his daughter. He made her drop the Arbatov name on account that she had "marred" it with her "filthy, whorish being" though no one ever had a chance to find what exactly what she had ever changed it to because her father had thrown her out of the house. She, being more than glad to leave, disappeared without a trace.

Yuri then did the strangest thing then; he stayed with the group.

Then one more appropriate thing: he locked away his heart.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"I didn't realize you had a permanent residence in Seoul." Nikolai said, looking around the elevator.

"I only recently bought the place. It was necessary to have a nearby hub to go back and forth from Japan."

"What? Are you safe here?"

"Not safe, just saf_er_." He corrected, putting emphasis on the last syllable, all the while keeping his eye on the climbing red number.

"I see...I can see why you'd think that after what you did, of which...I'm still a bit disbelieving."

"I had little choice."

"Sergei..."

"We'll talk about this once we're in."

Nikolai nodded and resumed his silence. It wasn't until they were inside the apartment, Sergei locking the door and reactivating the security and alarms, that they spoke again.

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. You fucking crashed. A. Plane."

"As I said, I had to."

"On Arbatov's request?"

"On his request, yes."

"Who else knows?"

"What's that?"

"Anyone else know about this?"

"Yuri, Mikhail's right hand man."

"Can he be trusted to keep it silent?"

"Of course. He wouldn't be the right hand man otherwise."

"What else? What else has Mikhail asked you to do?"

"He spoke about some close associate of Yoh, I'm not sure."

"A regular hit job?"

"I don't think so, but it's not going to be anything pretty. That much I can assure you."

"He's stooping rather low, isn't he? This isn't like him."

"Not at all. Arbatov is a man of results. Whatever it takes, that's his stand."

"Alright. Let's say you were right. Then the question is, whatever it takes to do _what?_"

"I don't know, but..." he suddenly propped up a briefcase onto the coffee table and its lid popped open, revealing a stack of carefully organized files, photos paper clipped to documents, passports from different countries. Sergei thumbed his way through them until he stopped at a common looking yellow folder. He took it out of the stack and opened it, revealing more papers and several photographs; most, from the look of things, appeared to have been taken without the knowledge of the subject. "I wonder if you can help me. Do you recognize them?" he handed Nikolai a photograph of two Asian man stepping out of the same car in front of what seemed like a regular office building, dressed in suits and long coats.

"This one," he pointed to one of them, "it's Yoh, isn't it?"

"And the other one?"

Nikolai looked back at the photograph and shook his head, "No, I don't the other guy. Who is he?"

"His name is Akihito Takaba, a 29-year-old bachelor from what I've heard, and is one of the few men that have been seen with Yoh. Not on a regular or frequent basis but enough to raise some interest. It seems that the two have been working or something together for a number of years now but the nature of their relations has yet to be known."

"So...what's the point?"

"He was seen with the airport chief of securities this morning after the crash. Strange thing is, I've never heard of him until now but sources have told me that he's been _in_ since five years ago. Starting right after Asami's death."

"Asami? As in the former boss?"

"Exactly. Apparently, he was quite close to the _former_ boss as well, which is rare."

"But why are you suddenly asking me about him?"

"Because this is the one that Mikhail is interested in."

"Interested?"

"Hell, I don't know, but this Akihito Takaba...he's in for a lot of hell if he doesn't brace himself."

"What will you do? Will you kill him if Mikhail asks?"

"No, and not because I pity the man in any way but because I don't want Feilong's entire army on my tail. Apparently, Takaba is on Feilong's 'safe list.' A sane man would never even dream of touching _anyone_ on Feilong's list. But then again, Mikhail has always been an exception."

"But that breaks your link to the Arbatov's..."

"Nikolai, you asked me three years ago to infiltrate them, and to the best of my ability and resources, I have. However, it's come to a point where if I don't stop, where if I don't choose carefully each and every move, I might end up in a situation with no way out."

"So you're dropping this then?"

"Perhaps. For now, I'll wait, see what Mikhail asks of me. Meanwhile, I'll be around. This Akihito Takaba has rather piqued my interest." Sergei slipped the photo into the folder and closed it carefully.

"Are you serious about this?"

"Mikhail Arbatov is _not_ an amiable man, never has been, never will be. He has many enemies as well as allies, and many of them rather dislike the man and vice versa. However, what he has against Takaba is no doubt a kind of grudge from the blow he took seven years ago. Since then he has risen at a frightening rate and it doesn't look like he'll be stopping any time soon."

"Check his growth."

"Yes, you were right about that, Nikolai, but one man cannot do it alone. You've been wanting to do this. Stop hiding in the shadows. I understand the necessity to stay low in order to keep Svetlana under the radar, but Nikolai, you will accomplish _nothing_ at this rate. Face it."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Akihito's mind was elsewhere during the entire lecture, words just coming out of his mouth as if he had recorded himself on a previous occasion. He was more than relieved when the two hour session came to an end. "On a final note, your black and white portfolios are due...next Friday, I believe. Please don't forget. That is all." Students groaned in response at the reminder.

The hall filled with the sound of conversations, bags zipping, feet shuffling, paper rustling and crumpling. Students left the hall in groups, preparing themselves for the outside weather. Akihito had to lock up the amphitheatre while the students left, which meant waiting for even the slow ones to pick up and leave.

Meanwhile, a young man shivered outside the amphitheatre. Though it was only early evening, the sun was already setting, making the temperature drop even faster. He had been told that the professor would be giving another class at this hour in the amphitheatre and had thus waited for two hours in the freezing cold. He turned around as the door burst open and a torrent of students began filing out. He thought about going inside than decided against it. He had waited two hours; it wouldn't kill him to wait another five minutes.

Finally, the last student made his way out. Akihito looked around; it felt oddly eerie to be alone in the hall, as if some supernatural apparition might pop out of nowhere. There were, after all, plenty of ghost stories about the campus, usually about some student that committed suicide because a professor rejected him or her. Akihito laughed at himself, mentally swatting away the silly thoughts as he locked the door and followed the students out.

"Sir!" a stranger called out, "Sir!"

Akihito stopped in his tracks, one hand in his pocket where he was fingering the cold metals of the car keys. He could make out a figure running at him, a backpack slung over the stranger's shoulders. Akihito squinted to try and put a name to the face but for once found that he simply could not register the person's identity although he seemed familiar somehow.

"Are you professor Takaba?" the person was breathing slightly laboriously, as though running that short distance had been more exercise than it should have been. He straightened himself though still looking a bit worn. "Sir?"

"Yes. Yes, I am." Akihito answered, cocking his head in curiosity. "Do I know you? Have we met before?"

"No, well, maybe." He started, "Err... no. That is...you might know me but haven't met me before."

"Pardon me?"

"Well...er..."

"Are you a student here?"

"Yes! Exactly, um... I'm one of your students and..."

Akihito leaned forward. He certainly knew most of his students by face and name already and this student...although he felt as though he had seen him once before, he knew for a certain that it wasn't one of the students he knew of. But more than that, he had a red nose from the cold as though he had been waiting in the cold the entire time. Akihito reached out and touched the almost-pale cheek.

The young man froze at the unexpected contact, at the hot temperature of the professor's hand as it gently touched his cheek.

Akihito withdrew his hand when he saw the young man go rigid on contact and frowned and smiled at the same time, "How long have you been waiting outside?"

"Er...about two hours, sir."

"Two hours?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, sir."

"And you said you were my student, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

He looked into the student's face again...he could swear he had met this stranger before...but where...

"There is a café about a block from here. Why not go there?"

"I really don't.." his mind was still on the hot touch, the way the professor's fingers had grazed against his cheek. He shook the thought from his head, reminding himself that this man before him was, quite effectively, a man and his own professor, "uh...want to impose on you, sir."

Akihito's face broke into an amused smile, "You came here to talk with me, am I right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well...I'd prefer to talk inside considering the weather."

He looked at Akihito blankly.

"Come on. Let's get going before you freeze to death. We can pick up on the conversation once you thaw up a bit. You look like a block of ice."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Kaito flipped on the switch as he pulled of his shoes, "Hyouta?" the apartment was dark and silent. He padded into the kitchen to find dinner already set and prepared with a note on top.

Hey Kaito,

I'll be back soon. I just went to drop by the University to tell them I was starting class again. If I can meet some of my professors, I might come back a bit later but don't worry! Just heat up the dinner and please do eat. I know you've been skipping meals!! (by the way, your pantry's almost empty.)

Hyouta

Kaito smiled at the roughly scribbled note sticky on the pot cover. How had his brother known that he skipped meals on a regular basis? Hyouta had a natural tendency for empathy, it seemed, a trait he had demonstrated even at a young age. Perhaps it had been part of his upbringing that his younger brother had acquired maturity at a too early age when he should have been carefree. On some level, Kaito felt guilty for it. Perhaps this was his attempt at some kind of redemption. Perhaps not.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The waitress came up to the table with the usual pen and pad, "What would you like to order?"

"Just plain coffee." Akihito looked over across the table, "Anything you want?"

"The same."

"It'll be up in a short moment," she said as she turned and walked away.

"How did you find me?"

"The...office said you were teaching class at this hour so..."

"So you waited two hours in the cold."

"Yes, sir."

"So...what's your name, young man?"

"Hyouta, sir. Nakamura Hyouta."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Tokyo

The valet went to work as soon as the Ferrari Spider rolled into the front entrance driveway. The door popped open as the tall man, dressed in an impeccable Dolce & Gabbana suit, stepped out. He handed the keys to the valet and slipped off his mirrored Emporio Armani aviator glasses as he stepped into the lobby where the woman behind the concierge desk quickly came around the desk and escorted him toward the elevator.

"Good evening Mr. Shaler." She said, her hair put up in a perfect bun.

"Good evening to you, Miss Ozumi."

She blushed and bowed her head slightly, "I'm rather surprised that you have remembered my name, sir."

"How could I not? It would be impossible to forget the name of a woman as beautiful and graceful as you," he replied, collected and composed as always. He didn't add the obvious fact that he had stayed just at the Presidential Suite just two days ago.

Her face turned bright red. As if to save her from further embarrassment, the elevator door opened, and both of them stepped out. Although he knew full well where it was, she guided him to the door and opened the door with the card key, handing him another spare as well. With a bright smile, she said, "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Shaler."

"Thank you." He watched her go then stepped inside. There was a reason for the service. He had, after all, booked the most expensive suite at the Mandarin Oriental Tokyo Hotel for an entire week until his new apartment was properly furnished and prepared. Not to mention the fact that he always book the suite whenever he stopped by Tokyo.

He flipped open his cell phone and held the first speed dial number.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Sydney, Australia

Nikolai sat staring at the screen, trying to finish this particular email, but for some reason found his mind straying to Sergei and what the man had said. The man had probably spoken right about him, about his cowardice, that is. Sergei was right most of the time about just anything and everything. The most incredible intuition that man had, Nikolai mused, leaning back into the office seat and swiveling around to rest his eyes. And the most inexplicable kind of person he was.

The man and he, along with Svetlana as she was the cause of it, shared a most intriguing history, a rather complicated one.

There were, as there still are, more than one major mafiya in Russia, five, in fact, colloquially referred to as the Five Bears. It was just that the Arbatov's, at the moment, were the largest, most powerful, and well-known, though the order was always changing every one or two decades. If not one of the five bears, the other skirmishing groups were rarely considered if not for deals and routes.

Though the rest of the Arbatov family was probably not aware, Svetlana's father had known full well where his daughter was. He had sent Sergei to find out, for by then, he already was known for his skill. When Arbatov, Sr. discovered that his ex-daughter had married herself off to Nikolai, who just happened to be the youngest son of the Horowitz, one of the five major families, he ordered Sergei to "clean," the euphemistic term for kill, both his daughter and lover for two unreasonable reasons: the lover for "corrupting" his daughter, the daughter letting herself be "corrupted" by him.

How so typically Romeo and Juliet although the Horowitz family couldn't have cared less as long as their children didn't bring in street trash, which Svetlana certainly was not. She was just about as cultured and refined as a woman could get though all the while completely capable of necessary brutalities, which was exactly wheat Nikolai loved about her.

This was when Sergei found himself between two cross-fires. He was already bound by a previous contract from the Horowitz, which was to keep on eye on their youngest son, who was known to be a bit on the reckless side of the personality spectrum, and protect him from his own foolishness. The Svetlana incident was yet another one of his very, very stupid acts.

It was also Sergei's personal policy as well that no matter how great the great, he would always honor the first contract should he come across a second contract that contradicted it. Hence, he refused Mr. Arbatov and stated should he carry out the contract, he would eliminate only Svetlana. Arbatov, Sr. agreed. Or it seemed.

As soon as Sergei set out, his employer called another contract killer to finish off both Sergei and Nikolai once the former had finished his job.

It was this crucial piece of information that Nikolai managed to get a hold of.

Vvvvvvvvv

Houston, Texas, USA [6 years ago

Sergei slipped quietly into the bedroom. It was almost pitch black save for the city light flooding in through the floor to ceiling windows. The lithe figure of Svetlana lay on the bed, peaceful, and for a second, Sergei wondered just why Mr. Arbatov was so bent on killing his daughter. Whether he liked it or not, he would soon end up finding out.

He walked silently over to the bed and raised his pistol.

"Did my father send you?" Svetlana whispered suddenly as the room light suddenly turned on while, simultaneously, the blinds on the window closed shut. And there was Nikolai with a gun pointed at him. Svetlana raised herself and glanced back at Nikolai, "Put the gut down, Nikolai, it's unnecessary." She stepped out of bed and Sergei realized that she was naked save for an underwear and bra. She crossed the room and pulled a bath robe that lay across a chair and covered herself, seemingly in no hurry at all. Perhaps it was her Slavic origins but she was tall and thin and elegant though she looked little like her father. She could have easily passed for a celebrity of sorts.

Nikolai reluctantly lowered the gun and Svetlana smiled at Sergei, "Am I right? My father, _Mr. Arbatov_," she sneered with a voice akin to disgust, "sent you. No?"

"Yes, he did."

"And did he say why?"

"I didn't ask."

"Ah...I see. Then should I tell you? Hm?" she was pouring herself a glass of bourbon that lay on the bedroom table, "Why my own father is so bent on seeing me dead..."

"Svetlana..." Nikolai started.

"Nikolai...shhh...I have to have this conversation. And make him realize what he's doing."

"I know perfectly realize what I'm doing." Sergei said.

"Of course you do. But how much, hm? Did he tell you, for example, that I know every trade route available to the Arbatov's? Or maybe even all the bank accounts that he uses. He probably never told you, but I handled the meticulous aspects of Arbatov's finances. That, my dear Sergei, is why he wants me dead."

"And how should that change my plan?"

"Well, for one...we've just saved your life, Mr. Andreyev, Nikolai and I."

He kept his gun up, "What do you mean?"

"On the seventh floor of the building adjacent to ours, there is a sniper waiting to take you out."

"What?"

"You see...I've told you too much. And my father, that sly man, probably figured that I would. So...he sent someone to kill you as soon you killed me. Hush-hush, you know. I'm sure you understand the importance of discretion in this business."

"How do you know this?"

"Why, Nikolai found out. Don't underestimate him, Mr. Andreyev...he's a frightening man if he wants to be. Aren't you, Nikolai?"

"Svetlana," Nikolai sounded irritated, "quit wasting time."

"My, aren't we edgy today. You sounded mighty pleased in bed last night."

"For God's sakes..." he muttered.

"So," Svetlana stood up, laughing, "I have proposal to make."

"What kind?"

"The kind that you usually do," she downed the glass she had been holding, "We kill the sniper in the adjacent building, and you kill my father. Seeing as how he sent a man after you, it shouldn't be difficult right?"

"Patricide?"

"He's perfectly find with filicide, why should I care?"

Well...she had point there. "And just how am I to believe your claim?"

"Would you rather die?"

And that pretty much summed up their contract. Except...Sergei never had to kill his employer because someone else came along and killed him before Sergei had the time to.

Vvvvvvvvvvv

Nikolai jumped from his seat when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and frowned...Robert Shaler?

"Hello?" he answered, a bit wary of the call.

"It's me." The voice gave away the false ID.

_Sergei_. "It's you. Mind explaining why my caller ID say..." he looked at the screen again, "Robert Shaler?"

"That's my alias."

"You're in Japan, aren't you?" Nikolai could hear chuckling from the other side of the line, "This is in no way amusing, Sergei, get out of there."

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because what? Nobody knows me here anyway. Besides, I have to do this. Period."

"And what excuse will you make to see this Takaba Akihito? Hello, I'm the guy that crashed the plane two days ago, nice to meet you?"

"Don't worry, I've got my plans."

"Don't get yourself killed."

"I won't. Stay safe."

"I will."


End file.
